


How to Fuck With (and Feed) Your Soulmate

by BlueSimplicity



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Also Steve sucks on his own socks, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Awesome Howling Commandos, BAMF Bucky Barnes, BAMF Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes is so done with this shit, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Don't ever let Steve take a selfie, Fluff and Angst, Food, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Food as a weapon, Found Family, I Don't Even Know, Lube Bombs, M/M, Modern Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, No I am not kidding - Freeform, POV Bucky Barnes, POV Steve Rogers, Pets, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sam Wilson is not getting paid enough to deal with this shit, Sassy Steve Rogers, Shrunkyclunks, Slow Burn, Social Media, Soulmarks, Soulmates, The Avengers Are Good Bros, The Furnadoes, polyglot Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 113,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22965304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueSimplicity/pseuds/BlueSimplicity
Summary: It’s called the Grey Space; a patch of skin marking you as blessed and the first sign you have a soulmate. Steve Rogers didn’t have one when he crashed into the ice. But he did when he woke up in the future. The second sign is the Sense, a sharing of one the senses to help soulmates find each other. Steve’s Sense, taste, is rare, but he loves a challenge and a soulmate is a gift from the Fates. Except instead of a blessing, it’s a curse, since his soulmate is a dick.Bucky Barnes loves food and a homecooked meal is something he cherishes. When his Grey Space starts to itch, Bucky can’t help his excitement, since the Sense he and his soulmate share is taste. But not for long. Whoever he’s bound to has the blandest diet in the world, ignoring all Bucky’s messages. After weeks of putting up with tasteless food, Bucky decides to strike back.WARNING: This story contains spicy food, the world’s smelliest fish, Steve sucking on socks, sexy selfies, lube bombs, the Furnadoes, trouble-making grandparents and Sam not being paid enough.It also contains hot-chocolate, love between brothers, realizing found family is as vital as the one you were born with, and lots of laughter as Steve and Bucky find their happy ending.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 3857
Kudos: 1965
Collections: Favorites, Oh My God They Were Soulmates





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The artwork for this story was created by the AMAZING mags-duranb. When I first reached out to her, it was because I wanted cover art for this story. What I got was so much more. Mags has always been a dear friend, but as I was writing this story, not only was she my biggest cheerleader, but also a collaborator as well, giving me both encouragement and advice when I needed it, going above and beyond anything I could have hoped for. All of the beautiful artwork in this story is hers, and she was an absolute pleasure to work with. If you’re interested in commissioning some artwork of your own, send her a DM on her twitter account [here](https://twitter.com/mags_duranb).
> 
> This story is un-betaed, and all mistakes are my own. That said, it’s dedicated to my beloved Merry_rf. We didn’t get the chance to work together this time around my dearest, and I know your life has been a bit busy these past couple of months, but if nothing else, I hope this silly crack!fic brings a smile to your face.
> 
> This story exists because I absolutely adore soulmate fics, and decided I wanted to try and write one. It was supposed to be short and fluffy and…Yeeeah. That didn’t happen, and instead I ended up writing a hell of a lot of words about Bucky and Steve’s soulmate shenanigans. Then again, this is me, so I have no idea why I’m even surprised. But the story IS complete at this point, and after today I will be posting a new chapter every Tuesday and Friday. 
> 
> This fic is filled with all my favorite tropes, including food, pets, and the family you find, who might sometimes be crazy but still loves you no matter what. And a super sloooooooooooooow burn before these two idiots finally get their happy ending. If you’ve read any of my work before, then you probably won’t be surprised. If you’ve never read anything I’ve written, then thank you so much for taking a chance on this story, and I hope you enjoy it. And as always, all kudos and comments are GREATLY appreciated. 
> 
> ONE LAST NOTE: There are a lot of foods from all over the world mentioned in How to Fuck With (and Feed) Your Soulmate, with various reactions. However, it was never my intent to make fun of any of them. Food is a language of love, and every culture does it differently, and that needs to be respected and appreciated. My only intent in this story was to poke a little bit of fun at someone (Steve) who really hasn’t had much experience with the different types of food in the world. 
> 
> Right then, enough from me. It’s time to get this show on the road…

**How to Fuck With (and Feed) Your Soulmate**

They called it the _Grey Space._

Not everybody had one. In fact, very few people did. But everyone knew what it meant.

It was exactly as the name implied; a small patch on your body, different from the rest of your skin, marked by its flat grey color. Ugly in appearance, though not by its meaning. Because to have one meant you were one of the lucky ones, gifted by the Fates with a soulmate, one other who would balance your heart, your life, and whose love for you would be bright enough to fill all of the greys in your life, and not just the one your skin, with color.

His mother had had one. Steve could remember sitting on her lap, running his fingers over the small band that curled around her wrist like ivy, and asking her over and over to tell him all about what it meant.

“It’s your father’s kiss,” she would always respond with a laugh, pressing one of her own to his forehead.

“And you were born with it?” he asked for what must have been the millionth time.

“Yes.” They might not have had much, but Sarah had always had an abundance of patience for Steve’s endless questions. “We both were, but his was on his right wrist instead of his left.”

“Why?”

“Because a Grey Space is the reflection of the love you’re going to find with your Soulmate.”

“But weren’t you afraid?” he pressed. Because while they may have been rare, everybody knew what a soul-mark was, but not everyone was kind about it.

“Not at all,” was her response, the same response she always gave. “It meant I was blessed and there was someone out there for me, someone who would love me just the way I am. I just had to find them.”

“But how? Weren’t you scared you weren’t ever going to find daddy?”

“Not really, no.” And here she paused to turn her wrist over, so he could see the swirls and curlicues that were thickest over the inner vein, right above the pulse. “It didn’t always look like that, you know. It was grey, just like everyone else’s. But then one day it started to itch, and change, and I started to see the leaves, and I knew it would be soon. And then came –“

“The whistling!” Steve always cut her off at this point, because _this_ was his favorite part.

“Who’s telling the story?” his mother would ask, but there would be laughter in her voice, and another kiss to his forehead.

“Sorry,” Steve mumbled, even though he wasn’t, and they both knew it.

“Silly bear.” One more kiss to his forehead, this time accompanied by the feel of the fingers of her other hand running through his hair. “But yes, the whistling came next. Because the Fates can be kind, and sometimes cruel, but even they know it can be hard to be sure, so they give you a Sense to help you find your one.” A _Sense._ From what Steve had understood then, it was as simple, and as difficult, as that. As the day grew closer and closer, to help two soulmates find each other, you began to share one of the five senses with the one who was meant for you. You could smell what your soon-to-be beloved was smelling, feel it in your fingertips if they held their hands under cold water, or see something when it caught their eye. It was meant to help you find the one who was your other half, but the Fates, while kind, could also be capricious, and it was never easy as all that. You could spend hours, days, weeks, months, even years in some cases, with a hint of bread on your nose, but that wouldn’t tell you which bakery your other half was in, or if they were even in a bakery at all; only that they were often surrounded by the scent of bread. Those who shared the sense of sight with their yet to be found soulmate were often considered the luckiest, but just because you could see the sign for Stone Street out of the corner of your eye, it didn’t give you the day or time, or even the season. It seemed that while the Fates were willing to help, they still wanted you to do most of the work yourself.

Sarah’s Sense had been hearing, and while challenging, his mother had been determined, and his father clever. Not too long after the shapes had begun to form on her wrist, Sarah started to hear a low whistling, the same soft but cheerful tune over and over again in her left ear, which always made her laugh. It was how, when she heard it for real one day at the market, she knew when she turned around it would be her soulmate’s eyes she would be staring into, and her laughter the first sound he would hear from her lips.

They were married less than a week later. And less than a month after that, they sailed across the Atlantic to build a new life for themselves in New York. Times had been tough back in Ireland, and they knew they would be in their new home, but they had each other, and they should have gotten their happy ending.

Except they didn’t.

Just three years later, and less than six months after Steve was born, Joseph had been killed by mustard gas in the Great War. And his mother’s soul-mark, which had once been a vine of the brightest greens around her wrist, didn’t revert back to its band of grey, but turned black instead.

Even at seven, Steve knew better than to ask what the last sound she had heard from him had been. It was the reason why all the other wives in their building were always kind to his mother; why she never had problems finding someone to babysit Steve when she needed to work extra shifts at the hospital, and there was usually extra food left on their doorstep when Steve’s health had taken a turn for the worse. And why, when she whistled the tune that was the love song of her life, it never sounded bright or cheerful to Steve, but sad and lonely instead.

“I’m so sorry, Momma,” Steve could remember saying to her, just as sad and lonely, as he ran his fingertips over the shadows of his mother’s broken heart.

“It’s okay, little bear.” It was a lie, and they both knew it. But it was a lie they both chose to believe. “Your da may be gone, but I still have his mark, which means I’ll always have a piece of him with me.” She would pause then, to tighten her fingers over his own on her wrist. “And even better, I still have you, and that’s the best gift he ever gave me.”

“Even better than the whistling?”

“Even better than the whistling.” And this time the laughter was back in her voice. “And his heart, his bravery, his kindness, they all live on in you. I couldn’t ask for anything more.” Her fingers tightened over his, before she let him go and sat back, pulling him even higher into her lap.

“I don’t have one,” Steve remembered confessing once, just once, feeling like he was sharing his deepest, darkest secret, although she already knew. Even at just seven years old, Steve couldn’t help but think it unfair. His life was already so filled with greys; the phlegm that his lungs never seemed to cease coughing up, the thick, heavy air that made his throat tight and his chest constantly ache, his stupid eyes that didn’t work right and allow him to see colors the way everybody else did. His world, his life, his body was all about greys, except for the one that might make it better.

“No, you don’t.” She didn’t say it like it was a bad thing, just a thing that was. “But that’s alright. Lots of people don’t. That doesn’t mean they don’t fall in love all the time. Look at Arnie’s parents. Are you going to tell me they aren’t happy with each other?”

“No.” Even Steve could admit his voice had been mulish.

“And just because you don’t have a Grey Space, doesn’t mean there isn’t someone out there waiting to love you like me and your da loved each other. You just get to choose that person for yourself, just like they get to choose you. It’s not a patch on your skin that’s important, Steven Grant Rogers, but what’s in here.” She tapped her index finger over his heart, once, twice, three times. “Always remember that, my little bear, and you’ll be fine. Now come on, enough stories. It’s time for bed.”

***

Her words, just like always, had been a comfort, a balm to all his worries. But neither of them had any idea just how prophetic they would be.

Because the fact that Steve didn’t have a Grey Space had been one of the deciding factors why he was chosen for Project Rebirth.

“We just can’t risk it,” Dr. Erskine explained to him, after the most embarrassing physical examination Steve ever had to endure, where they checked between his toes and even behind his balls in search of a Grey Space. “In spite of how far science has come in the past forty years, there’s still so much we don’t understand about soulmates. It might just be one of those things we never understand. And if you did have one, we have no idea what effect it could have on you, them, or the procedure. I’m willing to bear a lot of things on my conscience, but not that.”

Steve couldn’t fault him his logic, and he thought it fair at the time. Besides, he had already met Peggy by then. She didn’t have a Grey Space either, and his mother’s words about choice over destiny never felt so true to him as they had during those all too short years, as filled with war and battle as they had been, they were lucky enough to share. It wouldn’t be easy, and it would take a lot of effort on their parts, especially Steve’s, but they held so many of the same beliefs and goals, Steve couldn’t help but feel it would definitely be worth it in the end.

But Fate, or the Fates, had always had their own way of doing things, and they often balanced the choices of humans with ones of their own.

When he decided to fly the Valkyrie into the ice, Peggy on the radio begging him to reconsider, and Arnie shouting at him to stop being an idiot, Steven Grant Rogers did not have a Grey Space anywhere on his body.

When he opened his eyes for the first time nearly seventy years later, he did.

***

He hadn’t understood at first. After the disastrous sham of that fake hospital room, a panicked run through streets that should have been familiar but weren’t, a horrible realization and a crash course on history and all the changes he missed while he’d been “sleeping,” even weeks later he still hadn’t realized.

It had been Agent _-Please-Call-Me-Phil-I’m-Such-A-Huge-Fan-_ Coulson, a nice enough fellow, Steve supposed, even if the way his eyes ran over Steve whenever he looked at him put Steve in mind of an overly-eager-to-please puppy, who had been the one to make him realize something even bigger than the fact that although he was barely twenty-eight-years-old while nearly a hundred years had passed, something even stranger had happened.

“She’s still alive, you know,” Coulson said to him quietly the first time Steve had ridden on a Quinjet.

“Who?” Steve asked, handing him back his collection cards, wondering if he should hijack the plane and fly it back into the ice if it meant he could escape the way the man kept looking at him.

“Peggy Carter.”

“What?” The words left him dumbstruck, because he had been out of the ice for just over two weeks at that point, and no one thought _that_ would be something he’d want to know, instead of endless lectures on the advances in technology _(still no flying cars, much to his disappointment),_ and something called Twitter _(whatever the hell **that** was)_.

“Fury didn’t want us to tell you,” Coulson went on, and this time instead of hungry, his expression was apologetic. “Thought it would be too much for you to handle, all at once, with everything else. She’s old now, obviously, and not in the best of health these days, but she _is_ your soulmate, and I thought you had a right to know.”

“What?”

“There’s still so much we don’t know about soulmates,” Coulson continued as if he hadn’t just knocked the ground out from beneath Steve’s feet. “And your situation is certainly unique, just like the rest of you. But as best as we can guess, that’s why your mark is grey, instead of black.”

_“What?”_

***

And okay, maybe Steve hadn’t noticed there was something different about his body when he really should have. But given the fact that just a little over two weeks ago, he thought he was going to die, only to find himself seventy years in the future, in a world that was strange and loud and bright, where there still weren’t any flying cars _(he was **never** going to forgive Howard for that)_, but a man in a red and gold flying suit, another who turned into a huge green thing that liked to smash, and a device that was smaller than a pack of cigarettes where he could access something called Snap Chat, where apparently people could post pictures of themselves with things like dog ears _(seriously,_ _what the hell?)_ , he hadn’t honestly taken the time to give his own body any consideration. While the serum had done more for him than anyone originally working on Project Rebirth could have ever imagined, as evidenced by the fact that he was still alive, he hadn’t had a Grey Space when he first stepped into that chamber, and there hadn’t been one when he’d walked out. He hadn’t even thought to look for one. Why would he? Either you were born with one, or you weren’t. Everyone knew that.

Except, well, apparently for him.

It had taken him a while to verify what Coulson told him. First there had been the Battle of New York, where Steve discovered that the Tesseract, the very thing he had sacrificed his life to prevent it from getting into the wrong hands was still around ( _fuck you, Fury_ ), and learned along with the rest of the world aliens were apparently a thing ( _what the fuck?_ ). Not only that, but Norse myths weren’t just myths ( _he supposed he could accept that, but seriously Loki, what was the deal with that hat?_ ), Howard’s son Tony was even more arrogant and egotistical than his father ( _great, just great!_ ), and that unfortunately Loki wasn’t an only child, ( _Thor actually wasn’t so bad of a fellow, but who the hell thought that giving him a hammer that could shoot lightning was a good idea? If he ever met them, he was going to punch them in the face_ ). If that wasn’t enough, after all that, there was the cleanup and trying to find and help as many survivors as they could, and then dealing with the press once everyone realized Captain America hadn’t actually died in World War Two, but by some miracle was alive and well.

It had been a clusterfuck of a week, and Steve barely had enough energy to keep ploughing ahead and putting one foot in front of the other just to get through it, never mind having a chance to focus on the fact that his body was now marked with a Grey Space.

It wasn’t until days later, after he had gorged himself on the high-calorie protein shakes the SHIELD scientists synthesized for him, sleeping for over twenty-four hours straight, and a scalding hot shower that he had both the time and energy to search his body for the kiss from the Fates. It didn’t even take very long, and once found Steve realized he probably should have noticed it much, much sooner. But as he finally managed to rinse away both the grime and the soap from his body, there, _there it was._

A circular patch of dull grey skin, about the size of a palm-print, on the outer curve of his deltoid on his upper right arm.

***

In the end, it didn’t change much. It didn’t itch, no matter how much he poked and prodded at it, and there was no shading to it, or hint of what shape it might take, which were the initial signs a first meeting was imminent. And his senses, enhanced as they were these days, certainly didn’t seem to be affected. It was just there, as if it had always been, when he knew for damn sure it hadn’t. An empty piece of him, waiting to be filled, that meant there was someone out there who would love him like no other, and whom he would love just as much. But only when the time was right, and not a year, day, moment before that. Then the signs, the Sense, would come.

And for the first time, the very first time since he opened his eyes in that hospital room that really wasn’t a hospital room, Steve thought that waking up in the Twenty First Century might not be such a bad thing after all.

***

Or so he thought at first.

But while a lot of things had changed since Steve had been trapped in the ice, lots of things hadn’t, and even the sharpest and most brilliant minds of this new world were no closer to understanding the soulmate bond than they had in the forties. His research into the topic gave him data, but no real answers.

It was still considered an unbelievably rare phenomena, with the latest statistics saying that only one person in every ten thousand was born with a Grey Space on their body. In spite of that, it was as highly romanticized as ever, with more movies made, songs sung, and books written about it than previously. Attitudes had both changed and remained the same; those with the mark were now allowed to join the Armed Forces, when that had been banned in Steve’s lifetime, and those of the same sex who carried matching marks proudly claimed they were soulmates, instead of being brutally shunned. There were even different classifications now. Usually it was still considered a romantic and sexual pairing, but there were those who shared platonic bonds which were supposedly just a loving and deep. But some things were still very much the same, in that those who bore a Grey Space seldom talked about it outside of their families and closest friends, nor did they display them in public, not out of shame, but more due to the intensity of what having a soulmate entailed.

And while times had changed, and technology improved, it seemed as if it were no easier now than when Steve had been growing up to find the one who the Fates had destined to be yours. While there were forums for advice and even something called apps on Steve’s new phone that promised to help you in your search, there were no blood or DNA tests, retinal scans or other ways to narrow the playing field.

Just a patch of skin somewhere on your body that was either grey, slowly starting to fill with color, or black, depending on what your individual circumstances were.

The fact that Steve’s Grey Space had appeared was in itself another anomaly. All existing evidence claimed either you were born with one or not, so he had no idea why he now had one when he hadn’t before.

“Who knows?” had been Peggy’s response to his question on one of her good days when he had gone to visit her after moving to DC. As frail as her mind could now sometimes be, he still got most of his best answers from her. She was the reason no one had known he hadn’t been born with a Grey Space. Once V-Day was declared, she continued doing the work she so believed in, and been able to intuit how the times were changing; World War Two may have been over, but the Cold War was just beginning, and in her infinite wisdom had destroyed the few remaining samples of Steve’s blood, as well as most of the remaining notes on Project Rebirth, including the fact Steve hadn’t been born with a Grey Space on his body. “We never did know much about them, and that hasn’t changed. I was never one to put much stock in luck or fate in my younger years, but I’ve come to believe in miracles in my old age. How can I not, when you’re sitting here in front of me, looking not a day older than when I last saw you? And the Fates will have their way, no matter what the rest of us may want or think is best.”

“You’re still my best girl, Pegs,” Steve said, curling his fingers around her old and gnarled ones as they rested against his cheek.

“ _P’shaw_ ,” she snorted, in the exact same tone she always used when frustrated with him, her eyes as bright as he could remember them ever being. “We both know that was never meant to be,” she continued, touching ever so delicately on a truth about him no one aside from her and Arnie had known. Even in her nineties, ravaged by time and dementia, she was still one of the most beautiful people Steve had been blessed to know, and he still loved her, as much as he ever had. But no, she was never meant to be his, just as he was never meant to be hers, not really. He supposed the Fates would have always known that, even if he’d never been able to admit it out loud.

“And if you’ll listen to someone else for just once in your life, listen to me now. It _is_ a miracle, and a blessing. If there’s anyone in this world who deserves it happening to them, it’s _you_ , Steve. Don’t ever question that.”

***

He wouldn’t, and he didn’t. Truth be told, after that day, he honestly didn’t think much more about it, because life, being life, decided to fuck with him yet again, and the next two years were the biggest clusterfuck he’d ever had to deal with.

First it was finding out that HYDRA, those motherfuckers who he had died trying to stop, were not only still alive and well, but _thriving_ , and had infiltrated not only SHIELD, but most of the world’s governments as well. Then there was Project Insight, ( _once again, fuck you Fury!_ ), and having to go on the run while stopping a government sponsored genocide. Followed by Ultron, ( _if he could figure out a way to go back in time, he would just so he could kick Howard in the nuts hard enough to keep him from ever reproducing, because Jesus-fucking-Christ, really Tony?_ ), and any spare minute he had after that locating and destroying ever single still active HYDRA cell remaining in the world, ( _there was even one in Disney World! Was nothing fucking sacred?_ ), until finally, _finally_ things seemed to settle. 

And it wasn’t as if it was all bad. He had met Sam, after all, and while his relationship with her had been tumultuous at first, he now viewed Natasha as the sister he’d never had. Thor was actually one of the nicest people in the world _(supposedly one of many, but still, it was the thought that counted)_ , if a bit on the strange side, and Tony wasn’t too bad. _(Okay, he was, but Tony came with Pepper, and Steve could admit that Pepper was pretty amazing.)_ When Bruce wasn’t in Hulk mode, Steve could always count on him for a peaceful afternoon, and Wanda was like a second sister, a younger one, who Steve enjoyed getting to know. Clint was Clint, and that was pretty much all he could say about him, but Steve definitely included him on his list of friends. All the time spent hunting down HYDRA had given Steve a crash course in modern technology and cultural norms, so things like _#whateverwastrendingthatday_ and _yeet_ no longer threw him for a loop, ( _although Natasha had banned him from Twitter after the third time he destroyed his phone by throwing it against the wall. “But there are Nazis on there, Natasha! Nazis!” “Welcome to life in the Twenty First Century. Now shut up and let me pilot the Quinjet. And you better make sure your ass is in a parachute before we get to the drop point. I am not going to waste my time digging you out of a hole again.”_ )

So honestly, he really hadn’t had the time to think much about the Grey Space on his arm, or the one soul in the entire world the Fates had chosen for him. He’d been really busy, and he thought he was perfectly justified in perhaps not paying as much attention to it as he should. And he was grateful, he was.

Or at least he was until he got the _Sense._

And discovered that his soulmate was a dick.

***

The first time he noticed wasn’t actually the first time, Steve would come to realize later. The first time had probably been when the Avengers had been called out to Arizona to infiltrate and destroy an AIM lab. Steve had been hauling the last of their prisoners into the Quinjet, when for just an instant Steve could have sworn there was a hint, ever so brief, of the sea and fresh tomatoes at the back of his throat, which made no sense, since they were all standing in the middle of the desert, and the sand was fucking everywhere, the back of his neck, his shoulder, his ass-crack, and that shit _itched_. It had been a fleeting thing anyway, there and gone in less than an instant, and Steve already forgotting about it by the time they were airborne, and was scarfing down one of specially designed protein bars that were always kept on hand so Steve could ingest the required calories to keep his body running at top functionality.

It wasn’t even the second time, Steve determined once he had been able to think on it. That had most likely been when he had been using his shield to clear a path through the Monteverade Rainforest in Costa Rica, Natasha and Sam right behind him, and out of nowhere, he started to burp. Uncontrollably. So much so that even Sam and Natasha noticed.

“Are you all right there, Cap?” Sam asked, because Sam was amazing like that.

“Yeah,” _burp,_ “I’m,” _burp,_ “fine,” _burp._ And why was he tasting cherries and…cough syrup? What the hell was in this fucking rainforest? He hated rainforests; they were unbearably hot and humid, to the point where everywhere his uniform touched his skin, the back of his knees, his shoulder, the base of his spine, felt irritated and itchy.

“Are you sure about that?” Sam persisted.

Steve never got the chance to answer him. Before he could reply, he burped again, and a fucking bug flew into his mouth. Then he was no longer burping, but coughing and gagging, while Sam, no longer an amazing friend but an amazing asshole instead, started laughing his ass off.

The third time, well, the third time it finally clicked, and Steve realized what had been happening. His soulmate made sure he did.

Because the third time it happened, the motherfucker tried to kill him.

Or at least it felt that way to Steve.

It was right after another exhausting mission, three days spent tracking down a ship full of armed hostiles in the Gulf of Guinea, and Steve had just stumbled back onto his floor at Stark Tower. Those fuckers had been nasty, and somehow they’d managed to get their hands on weapons that none of them, even Stark, had ever seen before, and the ensuing battle had been brutal. Vibranium could still deflect even the most powerful of blasts, and thankfully lightning bolts trumped lasers, so aside from a few cuts and burns, none of his teammates were too badly hurt. But Steve was grimy and exhausted, with barely enough energy to strip from his uniform, shower, and gulp down three of his protein shakes before he collapsed face first into bed. It had taken him a while to get used to the mattresses of the future, too soft, too comfortable, but he now _loved_ his bed. Big enough for even his body, it was probably the best part about living in Stark’s Tower ( _and Pepper_ ), and on nights like this he was grateful this was the place he now called home. Scratching at his shoulder, his last thought before his head hit the pillow was that he would kill anyone who tried to wake him up in less than twenty hours, debriefing be damned.

The fucker didn’t even give him an hour.

It started as a tickle, then a tingle that was annoying but could be ignored if he tried hard enough. Except it didn’t go away. In fact, over the course of the next three minutes, that tickle that started off as a tickle turned into a burn that exploded into a blaze that felt like a dragon had shit a fireball into his mouth.

_‘Are you all right, Captain Rogers?’_ JARVIS’ voice asked over the apartment’s speakers. Steve was surprised he could make the words out, because he was certain all of the wax in his ears was melting.

“Head…fire! Tower…being attacked?” he was barely able to gasp as he stumbled blindly into the bathroom, turning on the cold water in the sink.

_‘I can assure you, Captain, that the Tower is not under attack, and there are no contaminants in any of the vents that I can detect. Do you need me to contact the medical team?’_ JARVIS asked.

Or he thought he might have; it was hard to tell with his head under the tap. And it wasn’t like it was helping, nor were the palmfuls of icy water he was able to gather in his hands to greedily slurp down. If anything, it was only getting worse. That dragon that had shit that damned fireball into his mouth was wreaking havoc on the back of his skull, down his throat, and into his chest. His eyes were tearing, his nose running, and every desperate gasp he took made it feel like C4 was going off in his stomach. If this was some practical joke of Tony’s, messing with his protein powder, he didn’t care how much he liked Pepper, he was going to piss in Tony’s coffee. 

It took an hour before the burning finally started to fade into something that made Steve not want to rip his head off, all while gurgling assurances to JARVIS that no, he did not need the medical team storming into his room. It was another hour after that of sucking on ice cubes before Steve could even think of getting back to his feet and making his way into the bathroom to check the damage in the mirror, shocked at what he saw. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair matted to his head with sweat, and the skin of his face, neck and upper chest all flushed a vibrant beet red. What the fuck? Seriously. What? The? Fuck? As far as he knew, he was in peak physical condition, and as best as anyone could determine, the effects of the serum were permanent. So what the hell had just happened?

_‘Are you certain you don’t want me to contact medical, Captain Rogers?’_ JARVIS asked for what must have been the hundredth time.

“No thank you JARVIS. Like I said, I’m fine,” Steve answered for the hundredth time.

_‘If you’re sure, Captain,’_ JARVIS said, sounding strangely condescending for an AI. _‘It’s just that your heartrate is elevated, your skin is flushed, and you keep scratching at your right shoulder. From what I have been able to ascertain from my observations of others in my Tower and well as the medical files I have access to, it appears as if you are having an allergic reaction to something.’_

“I’m fine, JARVIS. Like I said…Wait a minute. What?”

_What?_

_‘As I said, Captain, your heartrate…’_

JARVIS’ voice became nothing more than a background murmur, as Steve stood there, staring at his reflection, running through everything JARVIS just told him, especially that last bit. Because Steve _was_ scratching at his right shoulder, had been, repeatedly, for at least the last fifteen minutes. And not just anywhere, but right over the mark, that patch of skin he hadn’t paid any attention to in far too long, his Grey Space. Except, as he scrutinized it more closely than he had in months, he realized it was no longer just a patch of discolored skin. If he squinted, he could see just the faintest hints of a pattern, a few of the palest lines that might be the beginnings of a star maybe?

And while the past two hours had most definitely not been pleasant, the sensation when he first became aware of it, had originated in his mouth. It wasn’t an attack, some virulent contaminant in the ventilation system, or a goddamned allergic reaction. It wasn’t any of those things. It was a sharing, the first formations of a bridge the Fates would allow so two soulmates could begin to communicate with one another. A clue to help them find each other, because their time was drawing closer.

A _Sense_.

A rare one, taste, probably the most intimate one of all, because what passed through one’s lips would resonate with the other, like a kiss, without being kissed.

That his soulmate had obviously already figured out, and was using to try to murder him, the _goddamned, motherfucking asshole!_

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

***

It only got worse from there.

After that night when Steve honestly believed his head would explode, he foolishly thought they had reached a détente. Once he drank three bottles of water, and sucked on four more ice cubes, he took a few deep breaths and tried to remember everything his mother had told him of her experiences, all of the things he learned from his research. There really wasn’t much to go on, and while scientists hated to use the word, the most common one used to describe what the first sensation of their soulmates felt like was _magic_ , which gave Steve no answers. But still, his mother, and the personal accounts from all the blogs he read about it said that sometimes, if you were still enough, calm enough, it was more than one of the senses you shared, but a feeling too, an awareness as thin as gossamer of someone walking by your side. It didn’t always work, but if you were careful enough while also being persistent enough, you could almost see the thread the Fates had woven between you. The Japanese went so far as to call it the Red String of Fate, which Steve supposed made as much sense as anything else he read.

So once he calmed down enough, and his skin returned to its normal color, Steve sat on his bed, with his legs crossed at the ankles, and pressed his hand to the Grey Space on his shoulder. He closed his eyes, took three deep breaths, turning all of his focus inward, and thought _I’m here. I feel you. I know._

Unsurprisingly, there had been no response, just a quelled silence that told him absolutely nothing. While disappointing, Steve was too tired to try anything else at the moment, so he decided to let it lie, and finally catch up on the sleep he was so desperate for. He would figure it out in the morning.

There were two problems with that line of thinking. The first being that taste, along with touch, was the rarest form of communication between two soulmates, so there was very little information Steve could find on the subject. The second one was that while by now Steve had pretty much adapted to living in the Twenty First Century, food was the one area where he was least comfortable. It wasn’t that he didn’t like food. He enjoyed the shawarma place Tony had taken them to after the Battle of New York, and he loved all the variety of coffees he could now find on any given block in the city. Cold pizza with Clint was also always a treat. But unlike the rest of his teammates, he was a super-soldier with an enhanced metabolism, and his body required at least three times as many calories as theirs to function properly. While he knew they didn’t really mean any harm, their teasing about the way he usually ordered twice as much as they did made him uncomfortable. He probably should have just brushed it off, like he did everything else, but it reminded him too much of his youth, when he had been made fun of for his scrawny stature, instead of his enhanced one. So he found ways to work around it, primarily by drinking the protein shakes and consuming the protein bars both Pepper and JARVIS made sure to keep in stock for him at the Tower and while on missions. They weren’t the tastiest things he’d eaten, but he’d certainly had worse.

And sometimes, just sometimes, he really missed his mother’s cooking.

So the language of food was not one he was familiar with. And that was fine; it was really no one’s business but his own.

Except now it wasn’t. It was also his soulmate’s. And his soulmate wasn’t the kind, loving partner Steve had been led to believe he’d be, but a demon from hell sent to personally torture Steve at every opportunity. Because Steve hadn’t already suffered enough.

The sonuvabitch struck again, two days later, when the team finally gathered to debrief. Maria was in the middle of the intel they had downloaded from the ship’s computer, a list of potential buyers, when it started, the strangest sensation in his mouth. A series of tiny explosions on his tongue that thankfully didn’t burn, but were irritating enough that Steve found himself shaking his head like a dog in an attempt to get it to stop.

“Are you alright there, Cap?” Sam asked, just as Steve reached for a glass of water.

“Fine,” he grunted, with another shake of his head.

_Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop._

What the fuck was that? And why wasn’t the water helping?

“As I was saying -“

_Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop._

Jesus Christ, that was annoying. And it was getting louder too, the popping increasing in its frequency.

_Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop._

What the hell was that? And why on earth would anyone put something like that in their mouth? And was that…was that grape he was tasting? Had someone found a way to make grapes explode? Was his soulmate some sort of mad scientist?

_Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop._

“I’m sorry. Am I boring you, Captain Rogers?” Maria’s voice cut through Steve’s mental rambling.

“What? No. I’m sorry. What were you saying, Maria?”

_Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop._

Was that cherry he was tasting as well? Were fruits now weapons of mass destruction?

_Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop._

“Steve, are you sure you’re alright?” That had been Sam again, he was certain of it. Or as certain as he could be with the racket going on in his mouth.

“What?” Steve looked up to find every single person in the room staring at him.

“Your eyes have been bugging out of your head for the past fifteen minutes. It’s kinda freaking us all out dude.” Clint sounded as serious as Steve ever heard him.

“Sorry. I’m fine, I promise. Just -“ Was that orange now as well? _Gleh._ What the fucking hell? “A tickle in my throat. Excuse me, I’ll be right back.” That had been the last thing Steve had been able to say before he bolted from the room.

_Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop._

***

Two hours of that shit. Steve had to endure two hours of that shit before the goddamned popping finally stopped and he was able to hear the rest of the world again. While his hair didn’t feel like it was on fire, his tongue felt like he had French kissed a cactus. Steve had no idea what his idiot soulmate had put in their mouth this time, but he did know that when they did finally meet, he was going to punch him in the face.

***

The next time that cowfucker struck, Steve knew exactly what it was he was eating. But the knowing didn’t make it any easier, especially as it happened right in the middle of a sparring session with Natasha.

She was the most challenging member of all the Avengers to face, and he always had to keep his attention focused when he fought against her. Not only was she deceptively strong for her size, but she knew how to seize any weakness and turn it to her advantage. Steve normally loved training with her, because she forced him to combine both instinct and intelligence whenever they sparred, and he could never predict what she was going to do next. He was doing well that day, and they were in their second hour of training, Steve just having blocked a kick from her with his forearm, when it hit him in a sudden wave.

The brutal, acrid bite of a lemon. And not just any lemon, no, but the sourest lemon he had ever tasted in any century he’d been alive. Sour enough to freeze him in his tracks, and cause not just his lips, but his entire face, to pucker.

And Natasha, being Natasha, of course took advantage of the opportunity, wrapping both of her thighs around Steve’s neck and slamming him to the floor.

“I fucking hate you!” Steve shouted as the sourness somehow grew even more intense.

“You always say the sweetest things Steve,” Natasha smiled down at him. “Now are you ready to tap out, or shall we go for another round?”

“Kill me, just kill me now, please,” Steve begged her.

“Like I said, you always say the sweetest things.”

***

And then, as if the fire, the popping, and then the goddamned sourest lemon to ever lemon weren’t bad enough, the shithead finally took it a step too far.

To top it all off, it happened in front of not just his teammates, but Pepper too. It had been a good day, a great day actually, and they were all in the common area to celebrate. Whatever latest project Tony had been working on must have been going well, because he was less snarky than usual, which was always a welcome respite. By some miracle of miracles, Clint hadn’t been hurt on his last assignment, which was a relief to both Steve and Natasha. The final analysis of the data that had been gathered from the ship allowed Steve, Sam and Natasha to capture and imprison the small cell of terrorists who had been planning to buy the weapons. And Pepper had closed on a business deal that had been in the works for months, increasing Stark Industry’s profits, while also guaranteeing better regulations that would further help the environment. She was so pleased with the outcome she was actually cooking for all of them. There was an entire team of personal chefs employed at Stark Tower, so it was rare that she cooked. But it was something she admitted she found relaxing, and Steve always enjoyed whatever she prepared _(even if he still had to go up to his room and drink three protein shakes to ensure he satisfied his daily caloric requirement)._ Even Bruce was feeling calm enough to join them, so all in all it was the perfect way to end a great day.

Steve really should have known better.

He had just swallowed his first mouthful of the delicious chicken pasta dish Pepper had spent so much time carefully preparing when he was hit by what could only be described as something that tasted like dirty feet and vomit.

Whatever it was, it was the vilest thing Steve ever tasted. Not only did it taste like someone was sucking on a corpse’s toes, but had dipped that corpse’s toes in paste, and were licking it off with their tongue. It was the most disgusting thing Steve ever experienced, and he’d witnessed the Red Skull ripping his own face off.

Steve wanted to die. Or at least cut his tongue off, because sweet. Baby. Jesus. _What the fuck was that?_

“Steve, Steve, are you alright?” Of course it would be Sam who would ask that question. “You’re starting to turn green man. Is everything okay?”

“Are you actually getting sick?” Even Natasha sounded concerned.

“Oh my god, it’s not my cooking is it?” Pepper looked horrified.

“No, no,” Steve somehow managed shake his head. “Your cooking is fine, it’s delicious, I promise you -“ Steve was cut off by his own burp, and as bad as it was the first time, it was a million times worse coming back up. And then Steve ended up doing something he hadn’t done since before the serum, barely managing to make it to the sink in time before he puked his guts out.

“Oh, it’s on!” he shouted, reaching for a raw onion on the counter, only to drop it to the floor, when his stomach convulsed once more, and the process started all over again.


	2. Chapter 2

The thing of it was, food had always played an important role in Bucky Barnes’ life. Most of his earliest memories involved food, and so many of his subsequent decisions were a direct result of that influence.

His mother hadn’t been the best cook; truth be told, she’d been a disaster in the kitchen. His father, however, had been a fantastic cook, and even now, whenever he walked into his kitchen, Bucky could still taste the hearty stews, baked macaroni dishes, and Shepherd’s Pie his father had taken great pride in feeding his family. Warm, thick, stick-to-your-ribs meals his father learned to cook for his fellow teammates when he was on kitchen duty. Being a fireman meant that George wasn’t always home to cook for them, which could have led to the horrors of canned mushroom soup and hotdogs his mother somehow believed constituted a meal, yet thankfully never did. But that was all right; Winifred may have been a horrible cook, but she had been the best mom in all the ways that mattered. Endlessly loving and supportive of her two children, and since she had been a veterinarian, one of Bucky’s fondest memories of her involved being brought to the clinic where she worked, and told to pick a puppy from the litter she helped one of her patients deliver, and a year later, a kitten after that.

So no, not the greatest cook, but still the best mom in the world.

In the end, Winifred’s cooking skills, or lack thereof, never mattered. Because even on nights when his dad had been on shift at the firehouse, Bucky could always pop over to Jimmie or Gabe’s, where he had his first true exposure to the wonders of food.

The three of them had been thick as thieves growing up, Gabe’s family having moved to the same block as Bucky’s at around the same time they did, and the Moritas following a little more than a year later. Their mothers, each with a son under three years old, had become fast friends, and just like there wasn’t a time in his life where Bucky couldn’t remember food, he had very few memories from his childhood that didn’t include either Jimmie or Gabe.

Or their families.

And unlike Winifred, Gabe’s mother Vera, and Jimmie’s mom Ichika were phenomenal cooks. Not only that, but as a result of spending so much time eating with their families, Bucky grew up exposed to a larger variety of foods than most children his age.

They called them _foodies_ now, or _influencers_ on YouTube and Instagram; those who had a passion for food, and even made their living posting videos and pictures of the different types of delicacies there were to eat all around the world. Growing up in Brooklyn probably played a small role, but Bucky had never needed to be exposed to things other people would have considered unusual or _exotic_ _(such a belittling and stupid word, in his opinion)_ , when those types of things were what he’d always eaten. The rich and spicy soul foods the Jones family had brought with them from the south, and the just as carefully prepared and delicious fish, noodle dishes and onigiri of the Morita’s.

“I have no idea where the hell he gets it from,” Winifred had said one afternoon, as she sat with Becca cradled in her lap in the Morita kitchen.

“He certainly likes his food,” Auntie Ichika smiled.

“God bless the boy’s appetite,” Auntie Vera agreed.

_(That was when they had still been the Aunties, before they had become the Moms.)_

“I know he does,” Winifred said. “And thank god he’s not a picky eater. The only thing this one wants to eat is chicken nuggets.” Winifred paused to straighten Becca’s shirt, before she turned back to Bucky with a raised eyebrow. “But still…”

Bucky, being only-five-years old, and with an octopus tentacle from the takoyaki covered in spicy mustard he had just eaten sticking out of the corner of his mouth, had said the only thing he could think of.

“ _Oishi, O bachan!_ ”

To which Jimmie’s grandmother, Yua, had crinkled her eyes at him before placing three more of the delicious treats on his plate, while his mom and the Aunties burst into laughter.

That was the second way food had played a subtle, yet immeasurable role in Bucky’s life. Because when he hadn’t been running wild in the streets with Gabe and Jimmie, and one of the endless dogs that made his two best friends always want to come over to his house, or in his backyard with his nose in a book, or just needed some time to get away from Becca, because seriously, his little sister had been a brat, he could be found in either the Morita’s or the Jones’ kitchen, with Yua or Gabe’s Pappi, Leo, asking them question after question while they cooked.

Bucky didn’t have grandparents, at least not technically. But he hadn’t grown up feeling any lack, because just like the rest of their families, Jimmie’s _O bachan_ and Gabe’s _Pappi_ never made him feel as if he was anything less than one of their own. He had _loved_ spending time with them, still did, if he was being honest. They had been the oldest people in the world, to his childhood brain, and they were both grouchy and liked to snap at anyone they thought was being stupid. But Yua had been the first person to give him sashimi when he was six and Leo jerk-chicken when he was seven, and because of that he would love them _forever_.

Besides, they never seemed to mind him getting underfoot, and would always answer all his endless questions about what they were making while he watched them cook. And they not only gave him all the very best things to eat, they also helped him discover a talent no one could have predicted; that even as a child, aside from having probably the most varied palate of any seven-year-old, Bucky also had a gift for languages.

Yua migrated from Japan to America in her thirties, when Ichika had been thirteen-years-old. She could speak English when she wanted to, but in her own home she preferred to use the language she had grown up with. If Bucky wanted to know what she was making, which he did, he had to ask her in Japanese. So, at her heels, he learned.

Leo had grown up in the bayous of Louisiana, before moving with his family to New York City, so he grew up not only speaking English, but French and Creole as well. Never one to be outdone, and since he had a bit of a friendly rivalry going on with Yua as well, whenever Bucky was in the kitchen with him, fascinated by the black-eyed peas and etouffees he knew he would be eating that night, Leo would only tell him about it in French.

By the time Bucky was eight years old, he could speak, read and write Japanese and French as fluently as he could English. He didn’t think anything about it; so could Jimmie and Gabe. And being able to speak in languages no one else could was great when they wanted to go on their secret adventures, especially since it always made Becca mad when they said things she couldn’t understand, and even at seven-years-old, she was still a brat.

As a result, they were all multilingual as adults, had been since they were kids. Aside from English, Japanese and French, Gabe could now speak German and Farsi. Jimmie had added Italian and Korean to his repertoire. But it was Bucky who proved to be the true polyglot out of all of them. Not only could he include German, Farsi, Korean and Italian to the list of languages he was fluent in, but Russian, Latin, Portuguese, Mandarin, and Spanish as well, along with some ASL he had recently taught himself. It seemed Bucky could pick up languages as easily as some people could carry a tune, a fact his mother noticed one summer when she walked into the waiting room of the clinic where she worked, after finishing with her latest patient and their owner, and found Bucky sitting behind the counter with Angela, the office manager, watching TV.

“Are the two of you watching a telenovela?” Winifred asked, her mouth agape.

“Yep,” Angela said with a nod.

“In Spanish?”

“Yep.”

Bucky barely payed attention to the both of them; it was just getting to the good part, and he needed to find out how Carlos was going to escape from the shark.

“And you understand that Bucky? Without the subtitles?” his mom pressed.

“ _Si! Es muy interesante!_ ” Bucky only spared her a glance, before turning back to the screen.

“He’s been watching them with me for weeks,” Angela added. “He speaks Spanish better than my own son.” Bucky had no idea why his mother was staring at him like that. Besides, it wasn’t like it was such a big deal. He liked speaking Spanish, the way the words rolled off his tongue. Tortuga was one of his favorites, as were gondules and pernil, especially since it meant Angela was going to share some of her lunch with him whenever he said them correctly.

“Okay.” Winifred blinked, just once, before she shook herself out of it and came over to give Bucky a kiss on his forehead. “Such a smart boy.”

“ _Si, yo se._ ”

He hadn’t understood why they both laughed at him for that, but it didn’t matter. His mom and dad loved him, as did the rest of his family, and he had grown up knowing that in his bones. They didn’t care what he liked to eat _(everything!)_ , or that he enjoyed playing with the different sounds different languages made, _(like a super-secret secret he just needed to figure out),_ or that he was the only one, _the only one_ , out of all of them who had been born with a Grey Space on his upper left arm. And that hadn’t ever changed, even on the day when he was thirteen-years-old and he told his mom and dad that he liked boys instead of girls.

“Okay,” was all his mother had said with a smile and a kiss, just like she did whenever Bucky brought home one of his report cards with all As on it. His father hugged him, and then decided to cook cioppino that night, Bucky’s favorite dinner, making it extra spicy, because he knew that was the way Bucky preferred it.

That had been more or less the reaction of his entire family. Gabe had merely rolled his eyes at him, saying, “Yeah, we all knew that already, stupid,” before Jimmie added, “You can have David Beckham if that means I get Posh,” which led to a heated debate over which of the Spice Girls was the best one.

The only one out of any of them who had anything to say about it had been Yua. After his announcement, she rolled her crinkled eyes at him and sighed.

“Well that’s just unlucky,” she grumbled in Japanese. “He’s going to end up starving to death, because no man will want to cook for him the way a wife would.”

“We can teach him,” Ichika countered.

“That’s going to take a million years with the way this one likes to eat. Do I look like I have a million years left to you? The idiot probably won’t even know how to use chopsticks. You couldn’t have made this easy on us and have the other end of your red string attached to a nice Japanese girl instead?”

“If he doesn’t like your cooking, I don’t care if he’s my soulmate, I’m going to dump his ass. ‘Cos you’re the one I love best, O bachan,” had been Bucky’s logic at that point in his life.

Jimmie snorted, Gabe had muttered, “Ain’t that the truth,” under his breath, while Auntie Ichika scolded him about his language. Yua simply piled three more gyoza on his plate instead.

Never once in his life had Bucky’s family not supported him, never giving him any reason to doubt they loved him for exactly who he was. They encouraged his interests in reading, food and languages, and were supportive of his decision to pursue a degree in linguistics when he enrolled in college. He had a talent for it, a true polyglot, and they knew it would take him far in the world, just like Jimmie’s uncanny talent in computer programming, and Gabe’s in electrical engineering.

Their families weren’t the only ones who noticed and thought so. By the time they were juniors in their respective degrees, the military had as well, and aggressively recruited each of them. Like they had done at every stage of their lives, after some intense discussions, the three of them decided to enlist in the Army. Bucky’s father had served, and his father before that, so it was family tradition for the Barnes men. Gabe’s uncle had done two tours of duty himself, so it wasn’t a foreign concept to the Jones either. The Moritas had been a little more hesitant about the decision at first, but they were a strong family, proud of all they had achieved since moving to America, and they knew it would expand the career options available to their only son once his service was complete.

So on the summer after their twenty-first birthdays, after eating a meal that was better than any feast a king could have hoped for, Bucky, Jimmie and Gabe packed their bags, and flew out to Arizona for their Basic Training.

Looking back on it now, Bucky could see how naïve he had been. He had thought the Army would give him a chance to see the world, experience different cultures and sample their cuisines, while putting his language skills to use. He had grown up in a post 9/11 world, and he believed, he had honestly believed, by joining the military he could help prevent another catastrophe like that from ever happening again.

Especially once he completed his Basic, and it was discovered he had even more talents than previously thought. For quick thinking, surprising physical stamina, and the ability to stay calm and complete any task set to him. And perhaps most surprisingly of all, to both himself and his Drill Sergeants, to never miss a target when a rifle was put into his hands.

It impressed his COs enough that he was recommended for further specialized training after his original nine weeks had been completed. Thankfully Jimmie and Gabe had also been recommended, so they shipped off together for the next stage of their military careers.

There were twenty-five of them at first, the supposedly best of the best of the new recruits. In the end, only six of them were left standing. Tough sons of bitches who had bonded during the brutality their own country put them through in preparation for what was to come.

And thus, with the addition of Timothy “Dum Dum” Dugan, James Montgomery Falsworth, and Jackie Dernier, the Howling Commandos were formed, a new band of brothers ready to take on the world.

They were good at what they did, damned good at it. In fact they were so good, they were considered too good, and pulled from regular rotation, to be sent out on only the most covert and dangerous of missions, so secret there wouldn’t be a paper trail. Under Bucky’s command as their Staff Sergeant, they spent seven years travelling to all the world’s political hotspots, spending weeks, sometimes months, in communications black-outs, on missions no one wanted to admit to, but needed to be done. And never once did they fail, until the one time they did, when Bucky made a call, because things had felt hinky, had been feeling hinky for a while now, and Bucky failed to eliminate a target.

He expected the reprimand they received, but it was nowhere near as bad as it could have been. His own CO, Major Phillips, had backed him up, saying their record spoke for itself, and every unit, no matter how disciplined, was bound to face a challenge that couldn’t be overcome. A very mild slap on the wrist, followed by two weeks leave, that was cut short, when they were called back in at Secretary Pierce’s request, over Philips’ protests, and were to liaison with a SHIELD agent by the name of Rumlow.

The mission was a disaster from start to finish, and that’s when Bucky knew they were being fucked with, and weren’t meant to come back alive. But they were the Howlies, and the Howlies were the best, and Bucky loved his boys with all his heart. There was a way out of it, there was always a way out of it, if someone were willing to make the sacrifice play.

Bucky was willing to make that play.

As the bombs went off around him, his arm pinned beneath the burning beam of the building he’d positioned himself in, the last thing he thought he would ever hear was the sound of Gabe screaming his name, and Jimmie cursing him in Japanese, while Monty, obeying his Sarge’s orders, drove them away.

For eight weeks after, he wished it had been; it would have been better than the sounds of his own screams in his ears, until the bombs once again started to go off, and the last thing he remembered before he blacked out was looking up and seeing Gabe’s horrified face looking down at him.

For a month after that, he didn’t remember anything at all.

Until one day he finally opened his eyes and saw his Auntie Vera’s beautiful round face staring back at him.

“Hey Baby Boy.” Her words were the first kind ones he had heard in far too long. They should have made everything better, because if she was here that meant he was safe. And if he was, his mom should have been there, and he really, _really_ wanted his mother at that point.

“Where’s ma?”

She didn’t assure him, or call for Winifred. Instead her eyes filled with tears.

“Auntie Vera, where’s ma?” Bucky whimpered, begged, pleaded with her. “I need my mom. Where is she?”

“Oh Baby Boy,” Vera said, reaching to pull him into her arms. “I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.”

***

The last time Bucky had seen his parents, it was over a Skype call. Both Winifred and George had been laughing as they held up the check that was going to be the final payment they needed to make on their mortgage. They were now officially home owners, and were happy, so happy to be able to tell him that.

A week and a half later, Bucky and his unit went radio silent, out on their final mission for the United States government.

Three weeks after that, Bucky’s family was driving home from a dinner celebrating Becca graduating from college, when a drunk driver ran through a red light, hitting their car, killing all three of them instantly.

Unbeknownst to him, Bucky had become the owner of that house in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn where he had grown up.

And an orphan.

***

That had been the beginning of the worst year in Bucky’s life. And he knew he probably wouldn’t have survived it, if not for his Auntie Vera and his Auntie Ichika.

Vera had taken a leave of absence from her job in hotel management in order to be by his side at the military hospital in Germany he had been airlifted to as soon as she heard about his rescue. Once Bucky had been debriefed, she was seldom out of sight for that first brutal month of Bucky’s physical and emotional recovery, always there to wipe his brow after a PT session, or take him into her arms when he woke screaming from nightmares. And during the quiet moments, she filled him in on all the changes that occurred during the two months Bucky had been in captivity and the following one he spent in a coma.

“They didn’t think you were going to make it at first,” she said to him quietly, gently running the fingers of her right hand over his. “You’d lost too much blood, and there was so much damage to your internal organs, but you’ve always been a strong boy, and you pulled through. You’ve been healing better, so much better, than anyone could have hoped.”

Bucky thought there might have been more to it than that. In the dreams he refused to talk about to anyone, he remembered snatches of conversations that were fragmented and didn’t make much sense, but were terrifying none-the-less.

_‘Only sample we were able to sneak out…Fury locked it down.’_

_‘Too risky.’_

_‘Doesn’t matter…already listed as KIA, no one looking for him…matching blood type…inject him.’_

After that the fire came, in his arm, his veins, his brain, and he refused to remember any more.

And he _was_ healing well, faster than could have been predicted; broken bones realigning perfectly, smooth skin where there should have been scars, no damage to his hearing when he knew he had been way too close to those explosions.

Maybe he was remembering it wrong. The Army shrinks diagnosed him with PTSD, and told him he might never get back all of his memories in regards to what happened. It was a defense mechanism, and to be expected after what he had been through.

It didn’t matter. He couldn’t waste too much time thinking about it anyway, as there were plenty of other things Vera told him to occupy his mind.

Like the fact that Pierce, goddamned-motherfucking-Pierce, the asshole who specifically ordered their last mission, was dead. Not only that, but it had been revealed he was the head of an international group of neo-fucking-Nazis intent on infiltrating the government of every major country in the world, which had only been prevented by the Black Widow, someone called the Falcon, and Captain America of the newly formed Avengers.

Oh, that was another thing. Apparently Captain America was still somehow alive, as if Bucky could have given less of a shit.

There had been some benefit directly related to Bucky in regards to the revelations about Pierce. As soon as Gabe and Jimmie had been able to leave their own beds, they and the rest of their team began demanding a rescue mission for their Sergeant. Pierce refused to issue the order. Furious, Gabe and Jimmie had gone to Major Phillips. Phillips, having had the same hinky sense the rest of the Howlies had started to have on their last few missions, privately authorized the rescue mission himself, at great risk to his own career. And Bucky’s team, the best goddamned team in the world, had done what they were known for, and succeeded in the task they were assigned, which was why Gabe’s face had been the first Bucky had recognized in far too long.

Auntie Vera hadn’t told him that; the information came directly to him from Major Phillips himself, when he visited Bucky late one night during his second week of recovery. Bucky had always thought of Phillips as an honorable and intelligent man, and apparently the Major had never trusted Pierce. He had meticulously and very secretly kept a handwritten file on all the decisions Pierce made that seemed questionable to him. He was being hailed as a hero for it, and his files, along with all of the ones the Black Widow had released to the web, were helping to sort through the chaos all the world powers were now dealing with. As a result, Bucky and the rest of the Howlies were not going to have to face a trial, and instead were all being issued honorable discharges, as well as awarded Purple Hearts for their exceptional service.

It was a relief. It meant there would be one less battle Bucky needed to face once he was released from the hospital and allowed to return stateside.

But it wasn’t the biggest one.

“Gabe and Jimmie? They’re alright?” was the first thing Bucky wanted to know after he had stopped howling over the loss of his family.

“They’re fine, Bucky,” Vera assured him, running her fingers through his hair. “Gabe’s got some burns, along with some damage to his hip from the shot he took. His physical therapist thinks he may always walk with a bit of a limp, since he refused to stay still long enough the first time to let everything heal properly. Jimmie’s back was pretty messed up, so there’s some scarring, and he’s now got tinnitus in his right ear, but they’re both strong and doing well.”

“I’m so sorry, Auntie Vera –“

“Don’t you apologize to me boy. _Don’t you dare!_ ” she cut him off. “Gabe told me what he could about your last mission, and how both he and Jimmie would have died if you hadn’t carried the both of them out of there yourself, and then ordered Monty to leave you behind so they had a chance to escape. It’s because of you that both of my sons are still alive. And now I get to bring my third one home as well. That’s all the prayers I ever had for any of you answered, so don’t you dare apologize to me for making it happen.”

She was as good as her word, and stayed by his side at the hospital for the next seven weeks, until Bucky was released and allowed to finally return to Brooklyn.

It was then that Auntie Ichika took over.

While her job had been understanding, and allowed her to take as much leave as necessary so that Bucky wasn’t alone while he recovered, she did eventually have to go back to work. So with an apologetic kiss to his cheek, and a promise to check in on him later that evening, Vera carefully let him slip from her arms so he could slide into Ichika’s.

Auntie Vera was a soft figured woman of above average height, with rich dark skin, and carefully tended to braids that hung to the middle of her back, lush and warm and always full of life. In comparison, Auntie Ichika was a tiny thing, with pale skin and birdlike bones, quieter than both Vera and his mother, but even more intense than the two of them combined. And her hugs had always felt like the perfect combination of water and silk; just as soft, just as strong, and just as everlasting

“There you are, _musuko._ Let me look at you. You’re finally back home where you belong. Finally.”

“ _Oba_ ,” had all Bucky had been able to say, before the always clean and bright scent of her lovely dark hair caused him to burst into tears.

“It’s okay Bucky, we’ve got you. We’ve got you. And it’s my turn now to take care of you.”

And then without Bucky having to say another word, she pulled him away from the now empty house halfway down the block, and into her own, where she settled him in the guest bedroom on the second floor, which had carefully been prepared for his return home.

While Vera had sat by his side while his body healed _(and there was still more healing to go)_ , Ichika remained his steadfast guardian while his soul took its turn. It was probably the uglier of the two processes, but she never once wavered in her duty. She dragged him out of bed when the thought of leaving the room was almost more than Bucky could bear, and drove him to all his physical therapy appointments, as well as to the ones with his therapist, even when, _especially when,_ he didn’t want to go. She talked to him when he knew he needed to hear the sound of someone else’s voice to keep him from slipping away, and was quiet when it was silence he needed. And when he asked, she gave him the answers to all the questions he finally found the strength to give voice to.

“They’re buried in Greenwood, right next to each other, like we know you would’ve wanted. We tried to wait for you, thought you should have been there, but they wouldn’t let us talk to you. Vera and I must have made a thousand phone calls, trying to explain the situation, but every time we got through to someone, they just kept telling us the same thing, that you were on a mission and in a communications blackout. We wanted to wait, but it was becoming disrespectful, so we did our best to try to honor what we thought your wishes would be.”

“What were they wearing?” Bucky needed to know.

“Your father was buried in his dress uniform. Your mother in her purple dress with the orange flowers.”

“She loved that dress.”

“She did.” Ichika reached out to take his hand. “And for Becca, we picked that yellow dress you bought for her in Paris, that she always complained about but we all knew was her favorite.”

“Thank you.”

“It was a lovely service, with bagpipers and an honor guard. Your parents were well-loved, and so many people came to pay their respects.”

“That’s good to know,” Bucky swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“We’ll take you to see them, when you’re ready. Gabe and Jimmie have already been, but you take as much time as you need. There’s no rush, and I know they would want you to be strong enough before you visit them,” she assured him. “Just like you take as much time as you need before go back into the house.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be strong enough for that,” Bucky had to admit. “Any of it.”

“Probably not. No one ever thinks they are. But it does help. Believe me, it does.”

The kitchen where they were sitting was so quiet Bucky could hear the ticking of the old glass clock on the mantlepiece in the Morita’s living room. _Tick-tick-tick_ , louder and stronger than his own heart felt at that moment.

“I can’t believe I’m an orphan now.”

She slapped him.

Not too hard, but bracing enough to make him jolt. It was the first time anyone within his extended family had ever raised a hand to him, and it left him shocked.

“ _Baka!_ ” she hissed when he looked at her. It was rare for Ichika to ever raise her voice, so Bucky had learned long ago to pay attention to whatever she was saying whenever she did.

“You listen to me, you stupid boy. I have known you since you were barely three years old, two days after my family moved into this house and your mother knocked on my door to welcome us to the neighborhood with you squirming to get down from her hip, and something she claimed was a coffee cake in her other hand. You, Jimmie and Gabe have been best friends since you were babies. I wiped the snot from your nose and kissed so many of your scraped knees whenever you fell down I know what your blood tastes like, just like I know Winnie and Vera did for Jimmie. I fed you your first bowl of soba when you were four, which you slurped down like a greedy little goat before asking me for more. And I know Vera gave both you and Jimmie your first taste of red beans and rice not too long after that. I cried when Jimmie told me what happened to you, Vera too, and I cried again, this time in joy, when they called to tell me they found you. I may not have given birth to you, but I sure as hell helped raise you, and Gabe too, so don’t you dare sit there and tell me that you’re not one of my own. Do you think you’re the only one who misses them? You’re not. But you’re still alive, and Winnie would have slapped you herself if she heard what you’d just said.”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m so sorry,” was all Bucky was able to get out before she pulled him into her arms.

“Oh Bucky,” she murmured into his hair, her voice soothing now instead of angry. “I’m sorry too. I know you’re in pain right now, because you’ve lost so much, too much for someone as young as you are. And you may have lost Winnie, George and Rebecca, but you still have Vera and me. And we’re your mothers too.”

So the Aunties became the Moms, just like they had always really been, and after Bucky cried against Ichika’s shoulder for over an hour, she fed him another bowl of soba, just like she had when he was four years old. It didn’t fix everything, but it did help to make it just a little bit better.

***

Eventually things started to improve. They got a lot worse before they did, but eventually things slowly started to change.

His physical therapist set up a treatment program that was brutal and grueling, but in reality no worse than his specialized training. Bucky had been a soldier for the past seven years of his life, in peak physical condition, so he knew how to push through things to achieve the desired results. Everyone, from his doctors to his family, said his recovery was a miracle, _(even if Bucky had a very strong suspicion there was more to it than that)_ , and within a few months he regained all his lost muscle mass and strength. Given that he had also spent those past few months being fed all of his favorite foods, shrimp gyoza and pork tonkatsus made especially for him by Yua and Ichika, and gumbos and fried catfish from Leo and Vera, he actually put on a bit of weight. Not fat, but long lean muscles on his thighs, chest and upper arms.

“You’re looking good there boy, better than you have in a long time,” Leo told him, as he spat out the shell from the crawfish he just sucked on. “I told them we just needed to get some good food in you boys and you’d be fine.”

“Yes well, he likes his miso and chicken udon soup,” Yua, never one to be outdone, cut in. They had a bit of a friendly _(not-so-friendly)_ rivalry over whose food their grandsons preferred. Bucky knew better than to interfere, and was wise enough to keep his mouth shut on the matter; it was easy enough to do while sucking on a crawfish, buttery and spicy, just the way he loved it best. “It was _my_ o bachan’s recipe. Always made everything better.” It was some damned good soup, and Yua made the chewiest and tastiest udon noodles he ever tasted.

“Yeah, well, there’s a reason it’s called soul food, you old bat. That’s ‘cos it feeds the soul as much as the body.”

“He ate three bowls of it last night, so I think I know how to feed his soul, you balding rooster.”

Bucky just spit another shell out and reached for more crawfish.

But they were right, the both of them, because slowly, under his family’s care, and eating all their wonderful food, his soul did eventually begin to heal. It took time, much longer than his body did, and there were as many setbacks as there were successes, but inch by hard fought inch, Bucky’s sense of self began to return.

It took two months before he was able to take his first step back into his childhood home. But Ichika and Vera had taken care of the property while Bucky hadn’t been able to. The lawn was mowed and well-kept, and when he first opened the door, it wasn’t dust and shadows that greeted him, but bright sunshine and the scent of lemon.

“We didn’t move or change anything.” Vera’s hand had been warm on the small of his back as she followed him inside. “But we wanted it to still feel like home to you when you were finally ready to come back.”

“And there’s no rush,” Ichika added. “You can still stay with us as long as you need to, forever if you want. But it’s a beautiful home, and it deserves to be loved.”

“Thank you,” he said for what must have been the millionth time.

It took a month before he was able to move back, but his therapist and family were all supportive of his decision. It took even longer than that for it to start to feel like home again, for Bucky to wake up and not expect to hear his father’s humming from the bathroom while he shaved, to see Becca sprawled on the couch in the living room tapping on her phone, or find his mother frowning at the coffee maker in the kitchen. That’s when he realized he needed to make even more changes to a life already wrecked by them.

“Do you think they’d be upset with me?” Bucky asked one night over a cup of tea, when he told the Moms what he planned to do.

“No Bucky, I know they wouldn’t,” Ichika assured him. “They wanted for you to always have a home, not be haunted by ghosts. So if you need to make changes, then do. Whatever you have to, to make it _yours_ instead of theirs. They’d have loved that.”

“It’ll be a good project for the three of you too,” Vera added, over her own cup of tea. “Lord knows it was always easier to keep you boys out of trouble when you had something to do. I think you all need that right now.”

So after a call to the Jones’ church to donate most of the furniture and almost all of his parent’s clothes, Bucky set himself the task of remodeling what once had been his parent’s, and was now _his_ home. He kept a few things; all of his mother’s jewelry and one of her hairbrushes, Becca’s manga and her trophies from the swim team, one of his father’s dress uniforms from his army days, a few of his ties, and all his pots and pans. But other than that, most of it he donated to charity, where he hoped it could do some good.

Once that was done, he, Jimmie and Gabe set to repainting all of the walls, and refinishing the floors. They cleaned and they scraped and they scrubbed, not destroying what had been, but transforming it into something new. Vera was right; they had always liked to be busy, and they needed something to focus on while they recovered from all they had been through.

And Jimmie and Gabe, his brothers, were the best men in the world, and even when he was filled with self-loathing and doubt, so bad some days he couldn’t even get out of bed, he still knew he was the luckiest sonuvabitch in the world to have them in his life.

Jimmie and Gabe had been the ones to accompany him to his family’s graves when he was finally able to go see them. And they had clung to him, and held him in their arms when he collapsed to his knees in the dirt and sobbed and sobbed and sobbed, his tears mixing with their own, as they tried to deal with the loss they were all just beginning to comprehend.

“God I fucking miss them,” Gabe murmured into his shoulder, their knees damp and their bones cold. “Even Mamma Win’s cookies. They looked like charcoal and tasted even worse, but god-fucking-dammit, I miss those burnt rocks.”

“They tasted like shit,” Jimmie sniffled from his other shoulder. “But I would sell my soul for a plate of them right now, and eat every single one.”

“Oh god, those were _horrible,_ ” Bucky gasped. “Thank god for your moms, or I would have starved to death growing up.”

“Or died of food poisoning,” Jimmie added, and then they were suddenly a pile of three men, covered in tears and snot, mud clinging to their pants, who couldn’t stop giggling for the next fifteen minutes.

“Your dad must have really, really loved her,” Gabe said, when the fit had passed.

“Of course he did. Okaasan Win was great.”

“He did. She was.” Bucky swallowed. “They both were.” That was when the tears came back.

No one said anything about the state of their appearance, or the way they reeked of whiskey, when they stumbled back into the Morita house eight hours later.

Well, except for Yua and Leo.

“I would have gone for sake. Smoother, and you’ll have less of a hangover in the morning,” she clucked at them in Japanese. “You’ll be feeling that tomorrow.”

“Nah, something like this calls for bourbon,” Leo countered with a sad shake of his head, even though as far as they all knew he didn’t speak a word of Japanese. “Sweeter going down, but hot enough to scare away the demons for a bit.”

“Are we sure the two of them didn’t get married while we were away?” Bucky grumbled before he collapsed face first into the couch.

“Nnguh,” either Jimmie or Gabe, _somebody_ , muttered before they all blacked out.

The hangover the next day had been a bitch, and Yua’s cackling at them certainly hadn’t helped.

It didn’t go just one way either.

Bucky may have been the one who had been captured and tortured for nearly two months, but that didn’t mean Jimmie and Gabe escaped their time as soldiers unscathed. There were the physical scars they each carried, along with the tinnitus in Jimmie’s ear, and the way Gabe’s hip would probably now forever ache. Each one of them had also been diagnosed with severe PTSD. Their battles on the field may have been over, but their toughest ones still remained.

Bucky spent plenty of hours sitting on the floor at Gabe’s feet, talking him down from a panic attack. Or rubbing Jimmie’s back after the howls from his latest nightmare woke the entire house. Sometimes when insomnia struck all three of them, they would climb into the tree house in Bucky’s backyard that George had built for them when they were kids, and sit back to back to back, sharing a pack of cigarettes, while talking about all the things they had seen that they were forbidden from sharing with anyone else. Long, brutal nights that only cemented their already unbreakable bond.

Their families never once blamed them, or wavered in their support. Yet there were just some things even they, in their unconditional love, would never be able to understand.

While their lives may have started out as just the three of them, it wasn’t just the three of them anymore. Because under Bucky’s command, they had become part of a unit. And a Howlie never abandoned one of their own.

Dum Dum was the first to show up, six weeks after Bucky’s release, with a rucksack over his shoulder, his hat held politely in his hands.

“Baka Baka?” Yua asked with a squint, after the introductions were made.

“Okaasan!” Ichika cried out, horrified, although she should have been used to her mother’s antics by now.

“Well, she’s not wrong,” Jimmie grumbled.

“Jimmie!”

“Does he like Japanese food?” Yua ignored the both of them.

“He will after he has yours,” Bucky said, once he stepped back from the embrace of Dum Dum’s arms.

“Fine, he can come in then.”

“Okaasan!”

Monty and Jackie showed up not too long after that, being smart enough to knock on the Jones’ door instead of the Morita’s.

“Why do these white boys keep showing up at our house? Are we being attacked by Jehovah’s Witnesses? I ain’t gonna waste my time feeding no damned Jehovah’s Witnesses!” had been Leo’s welcome.

Maybe it hadn’t been so smart of them after all.

But they had all come, and after a couple of days, and meals, they decided to stay.

They had spent the past seven years living out of each other’s pockets, and given the choice, they decided they preferred it that way. Dum Dum had grown up poor, and joining the Army had been the only opportunity he had to make a better life for himself. Monty had spent the first twelve years of his life in England. His biological father had been a drunk and abusive asshole, but then his mother divorced him and remarried an America soldier, following him to the United States. His step-father had been the kindest and most honorable man Monty had ever known, loving Monty as if he were his own, and in tribute to that love, Monty decided to follow in his footsteps and joined the Army. Jackie had been a rebellious and wild child, with a talent for setting things on fire, and his mother had practically dragged him to their local recruitment office, hoping the discipline the military could provide would curb his penchant for trouble. It had, and while it hadn’t quenched Jackie’s fascination with fire, he was now one of the best demolitions experts in the world. Extraordinary men, devoted to their last breath, who were also having trouble finding their way now that they were free from the military, so of course they went looking for the ones with whom they had always fit.

They were the reasons why it only took a month to complete all the work on Bucky’s house. And why, in the end, Bucky decided to convert the basement into an apartment for Dum Dum to use. Monty and Jackie found a two bedroom apartment not too far away on Benson Avenue, but as long as there was a text on his phone when he first woke up, Bucky was no longer surprised to stumble into his kitchen, and find the rest of the Howlies already there, drinking coffee. The treehouse in the backyard may have been a bit more crowded, but they were used to living up each other’s asses, and had certainly shared worst living spaces. And six really wasn’t that much more than three, and there was always extra room at the Morita and Jones’ family table, even if Leo grumbled about all the white boys, and Yua insulted them in Japanese.

Until one day, about a year later, Bucky stood in the middle of his attic bedroom, and took a good long look around him.

It was the room he had slept in since he had been a child, and like so much of his life, it was different now from what it had once been. But he had always loved it up here, with its high, slanted ceilings, and wide-open windows that let in plenty of sunlight, with a soothing cross breeze that kept it cool in the summer. He had made a lot of changes to the house, and his room was no exception. The walls were now a soft green instead of the yellow they once had been. The original scuff marks had been sanded away and the entire floor re-varnished a golden tan. He had replaced the twin-sized bed with a king, and his sheets and comforter were a rich, deep forest brown, instead of the ones from NASA he’d slept under during his teens. He had changed the curtains, lined the windowsills with plants in tribute to his mother’s love of gardening, added a few throw rugs, a comfortable chair, and switched the porn mag under his pillow for a glock. And most noticeably, to him at least, he had taken down all the posters of David Beckham and Batman, and hung framed pictures of him, Jimmie and Gabe, group shots of the rest of the Howlies, dinners with the Moritas and trips to the beach with the Joneses. And last, but certainly not least, his parent’s wedding photo, and one photo taken at Becca’s college graduation, the last photo the three of them had ever taken together. It was a good room, certainly a comfortable one, showing where he had come from, and everything he hoped he’d be lucky enough to keep in the future. More complete than his life at least, although Bucky thought he was getting there, even though he knew there were still things missing, that he might never get back. _Baby steps,_ his therapist and family kept reminding him.

As he stood in the middle of his room, with his hands on his hips, looking around, he thought he might have an idea as to what one of those things might be. A few hours later, after some research on his computer, he was sure of it, and he knew exactly how to get it.

He would just need to ask for a favor first.

***

“Well look what the cat dragged in. Why the hell are you darkening my door, Barnes?”

Bucky had always liked Roger Phillips. More than that, he admired and respected him. He was a tough CO, disciplined and exacting in his expectations, but understanding enough of his men to know when they needed a chance to blow off some steam, and to turn a blind eye toward it. Tall and broad shouldered, with a hard and leather-worn face lined by the life he had lived, Bucky always thought he bore a striking resemblance to Tommy Lee Jones. It was rare to see him smile, but whenever he did, you knew you had earned it, and Bucky had been proud to serve under him.

So it was strange to see him smiling now, as well as dressed in a green polo shirt and khaki slacks instead of his uniform as he entered the den where Mrs. Phillips had escorted him just a few moments before.

“Hello, Sir. It’s good to see you as well. And I hear congratulations are in order. It’s Colonel now, instead of Major, isn’t it?” Bucky said, settling into the chair Phillips indicated with his hand, while he took a seat at his own desk with a put-upon sigh.

“Lucky me,” he groused. “But with all the shit that’s happened over the last two years, they said they needed men they can trust making the important decisions. At least that’s the bullshit they said when they pinned the extra the epaulettes to my uniform. Scotch all right with you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

While Phillips reached into the bottom drawer of his desk, Bucky scanned his surroundings. It was a warm, masculine room, filled with leather covered chairs and couches. The desk was large and well made, its surface as neat as a pin, not a pen out of place. The walls were constructed of a darkly stained wood, from which hung several framed photos, most in color, but a few in black-and-white. His eyes were caught by the largest one, hanging directly to the right, with not just one, but two faces he recognized.

“That’s my grandfather, Colonel Chester Phillips,” Phillips answered Bucky's unasked question once he saw which photo had captured Bucky’s gaze.

“You could be his twin, Sir.” Bucky glanced between the photo and Phillips’ face.

“So I’ve been told,” Phillips snorted, while pouring them two tumblers of scotch. “And yes, that’s Captain America in the photo with him. Grandpa was his commanding officer back in WWII.”

“He must have had some pretty interesting stories to tell.”

“Oh, he had plenty of ‘em,” Phillips snorted again. “He needed to down half a bottle of antacids before he got started, but he had plenty of them. Grandpa always said Rogers was the reason he lost most of his hair.”

“He was that bad?” Bucky asked as he took the glass from Phillips’ hand.

“Worse than you could ever imagine. A brilliant strategist, according to Grandpa, and they would never have won the war without him. But a pain in the ass who never met a rule he didn’t want to break. And the thing of it was, the sonuvabitch was usually right. Drove Grandpa up a wall.”

Bucky could believe it. He’d studied all of Captain America’s tactics while training, and the man had certainly been brilliant. Bucky had even incorporated a few of his strategies when plotting out his own missions. Modified though, because Bucky had to agree with what Phillips was telling him. His tactics _had_ been brilliant, but Bucky always thought Rogers struck like a cannonball, when a well-timed slice from a scalpel would be just as precise, and even more deadly, while being less noticeable too. In and out, silent and deadly, was how he liked to run his own missions. Bucky found himself feeling sorry not only for Phillips Senior, but Arnie Roth, Roger’s second-in-command, as well. The man had been a crack shot, whose skills Bucky admired, but he must have had the patience of a saint to put up with Rogers and his shenanigans in the field.

“You’re looking well, Barnes.” Phillips’ words pulled Bucky back from his thoughts. “Certainly a hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you. Civilian life treating you all right?”

“Thank you, Sir. It’s had its ups and downs, but, well, as you can see, I’m still here.”

“If anybody could survive something like that, I had no doubt it would be you.” Phillips raised his glass in Bucky’s direction.

“Thank you, Sir.” Bucky clinked their glasses together, and took a sip of the scotch. It was smooth and mellow, leaving a pleasant burn on the back of his throat. It was definitely above Bucky’s paygrade.

“And the rest of your boys, they doing alright?” Phillips asked, as if he didn’t already know. He was a good commander, and he truly cared about the men who served under him. He would have followed on up them, wanting to make sure of their well-being, but he was asking Bucky for more than what some official reports would have told him, just like he always had.

“We have our good days and our bad days,” Bucky repaid his concern with honesty. “Gabe and Jimmie are doing well, and Dum Dum, Monty and Jackie have all moved to my old neighborhood, so we could be close.”

“I fear for Brooklyn then,” Phillips grumbled dryly, causing Bucky to laugh. But then his expression changed, his face growing somber and serious.

“I was sorry to hear about what happened to your family,” he went on kindly only a few seconds later.

“Thank you, Sir.” Bucky’s mouth was suddenly dry, and he needed to take another sip of his scotch to keep from choking up. It still hurt, more than any words would ever be able to express.

“Not something you needed to be dealing with, on top of everything else. Good people, from everything I’ve heard about them. I never served with your father but from what I was made to understand, he was an exceptional soldier. And that your mother was a very kind woman. From what I was told, you take after the both of them.”

“They were the best parents anyone could have ever asked for. I was very, very lucky,” Bucky said.

“Of that I have no doubt,” Phillips agreed with a tilt of his head in Bucky’s direction.

“But the rest of my family, they’ve all risen to the occasion, and really stood up for me, Jimmie and Gabe,” Bucky had to add.

“Then I’m happy for you.” And there was one of Phillips’ smiles, rare but pleased, and Bucky found himself smiling back. They shared another sip of the scotch before Phillips’ grin transformed into something sharp and knowing.

“Any chance of you and your team re-enlisting? With all the shit that’s happened, that’s still happening, we could really use a team like yours on our side,” he asked. Bucky would have bristled, except it wasn’t an order. Phillips was only asking, because Bucky and the Howlies _had_ been the best damned team out there, and Phillips was never one to waste an opportunity.

“I’m sorry, but the answer is no,” Bucky shook his head. “No disrespect to you Colonel, after the way we were treated at the end there, none of us are very comfortable with taking orders from U.S. government anymore.” Bucky paused to lower his glass, and met Phillips gaze, unashamed and absolutely certain of his next words. “But, if _you_ ever have a need for us, then give me a call, and I can probably talk the boys into it.” This man had risked his entire career to save Bucky’s life, and his courage and integrity, duty to his own men, was the only reason Bucky was sitting there across from him right at this very moment. Bucky may have been done with the Army, but Phillips had more than earned his loyalty.

“Fair enough,” Phillips nodded. “But I still had to ask.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way,” Phillips lowered his glass, and leaned back in his chair, “tell me about this Hunter you’re so interested in you drove all the way out to Connecticut.”

***

Hunter was a three-year-old German Shepherd that had been part of a K-9 unit trained in sniffing out explosives. He had been travelling with his handler, when their envoy was attacked. His handler had been killed almost instantly in the cross-fire, but Hunter refused to abandon him, staying by his body until they were both found eighteen hours later. Hunter had been wounded as well, struck by shrapnel, and as a result, when he was airlifted to the facility where he had been trained, his left foreleg needed to be amputated. He had finally recovered enough to be retired from active duty, after being awarded full honors for his bravery and service, and was ready to be adopted by a civilian family.

Bucky learned all this after reading through the military K-9 website, and knew Hunter was meant to be his. He still had his left arm, and it was fully functional, even if it was covered with brutal scarring from where the burning beam had pinned him to the ground. Yet Bucky felt an almost immediate kinship with the beautiful and brave dog, who had sacrificed his own well-being to protect his handler.

But people were always interested in adopting a K-9 dog once they were finally retired from active duty, and there was a huge waiting list to even be considered. So Bucky made his call to Colonel Phillips, and asked for his favor.

And less than a month later, happily brought Hunter to his new forever home.

***

It was probably the best decision Bucky ever made in his life. Hunter was a gorgeous dog, a beautiful example of his breed, and already well trained. He adapted quickly to his new life, loved running around in Bucky’s backyard, and didn’t even seem to notice he was missing a leg. In fact, he got around so well, Bucky quickly forgot about it, only occasionally noticing as he galumphed around the park with a stick in his mouth. He certainly had no problem climbing the stairs, as Bucky discovered on their very first night together, when he woke up to find Hunter asleep at the foot of his bed, and being able to care for him helped Bucky heal in ways he didn’t know needed to be healed.

Bucky wasn’t the only one who was madly in love with his dog. Everyone else immediately took to him as well, and Hunter soon became the most spoiled dog in all of the five boroughs. 

It had definitely been the right choice to make. But Bucky had always been one to look at a situation, and see if there were any ways in which it could be improved; it was what made him an excellent leader, and why his team had never failed a mission before that fucker Pierce.

If one dog had made such a huge difference in his life, why not two? Dogs were pack animals after all, right? And what could it hurt to just take a look?

Which led to Hope.

***

In a corner cage in the shelter nearest to his home was a shaggy grey and white medium sized dog, who looked to be a mix of Border Collie, Husky and mutt, barely a year old, with a cold nose, bright eyes and a fluffy tail. She was also completely deaf in both ears, having been born that way. As a result, for as beautiful and friendly as she was, no one had any interest in adopting her, and she had been running out of time.

Bucky heard this, taken one look at her, and after a quick Google search for _deaf dogs_ on his phone, made the decision right then and there.

It wouldn’t be easy, and it would take a lot of time and a hell of a lot of patience, and Bucky would have to start learning ASL. But Bucky enjoyed learning new languages, and Hunter already seemed to like her. So he paid the adoption fees, clipped a leash to her collar, named her Hope, and brought her home.

***

It was definitely a challenge, but Bucky had known that going in. It took a lot of time, even more patience, and they both made plenty of mistakes. But Hope was not only a beautiful dog, but a smart one as well, and once it finally clicked in her brain that Bucky’s hand gestures were his attempts at communicating with her, and by paying attention to them, she would be lavished with endless love and praise, she quickly caught on.

Hunter helped too. His three-legged baby was also extremely intelligent and already well-trained. Since Bucky also spoke the command he was signing, he learned to associate the hand gestures with the correct action. Bucky was probably the only person in the world who had a dog that understood not only English, but French, Japanese and now ASL as well. But he couldn’t deny that it helped. Hope learned not only through consistent repetition, always rewarded with praise and treats, but also by mimicking Hunter, and within a few months she understood the hand signs for _sit, stay, heel, to me, down, go, bed, walk, fetch, food_ and _leash_ , with more being learned every day. 

It still required certain adjustments to make life easier for her. Since she couldn’t hear him if he called for her, Bucky had to put a bell on her collar so he would be able to find her. Or ask Hunter to do it for him; he always seemed to know where his packmate was. If he was entering a room where he knew she was, Bucky would flick the lights on and off so she would know he was there. And if she was sleeping, he couldn’t just pet her to wake her up, Bucky discovered after a few too many nips to his hand. Instead, based on the advice he read from a few bookmarked blogs and YouTube channels, he would drum his fingers on the floor a few inches away from her face, once again using treats as positive reinforcement, so she associated the vibrations with Bucky wanting her to wake up, and not the attack of a predator.

She was such a happy dog, who loved to play with her brother, who he couldn’t believe no one had wanted, and just like he hoped, she made his and Hunter’s lives even richer than they had been, and he was pretty damned crazy about her.

As was the rest of his family.

They never once questioned his decision to adopt a three-legged dog, followed by his choice to adopt a deaf one. Instead, they did what they always did, and opened their arms and their hearts to the newest additions to their combined clans, and his dogs ended up being the most spoiled dogs on the entire East Coast.

Of course, that didn’t stop Yua from being Yua, or Leo from being Leo.

Somehow, and Bucky would never know how, Yua taught Hope a sign of her own, that whenever she made it, caused Hope to steal Leo’s wooden walking stick, running away with it clenched proudly in her jaws, Leo shouting, “Goddammit you old witch!” in the background.

“ _O bachan!_ ” Bucky would always yell, chasing after Hope, while Yua pointed and cackled in the background.

Of course Leo, the wily old bastard, got his revenge, as Bucky discovered a week later, noticing Hunter was carrying something that didn’t look like one of his toys in his mouth during a family dinner in the Jones backyard.

“Hunter, come here. Give it,” Bucky ordered, holding out his hand. When Hunter dropped a drool covered pair of dentures into his palm, he knew exactly who to blame.

“ _Pappi!_ ” Bucky hissed, while Yua started calling Leo a “Constipated pig-fucker!” in surprisingly perfect English, from the other side of the table.

“That’s it! I’m not letting either of you babysit them anymore!” Bucky shouted, just as Gabe and Jimmie dove after Hope, who had once again run off with Leo’s cane.

“It’s never boring around here, it is?” Monty asked, as he watched the scene unfold.

“Nope, never was,” Vera answered, before taking a sip of her iced-tea.

“Welcome to the family,” Ichika added, placing another gyoza on his plate.

***

So none became one, and then one became two. But Bucky’s furry little family was far from done growing.

A few months later, as autumn settled in, and the nights began to grow colder and colder, one Saturday morning Bucky was leaving to do his weekly grocery shopping, and Hunter started pawing at the front wheel of his SUV. Knowing his dog well enough by now to understand he was signaling there was something he wanted Bucky to pay attention to, Bucky peered behind his tire to see two tiny sets of yellow eyes staring back at him.

“Right,” Bucky sighed, before reaching out with a cautious hand. “Good boy, Hunter.”

As best as Bucky and his vet could guess, the kittens had crawled under Bucky’s truck in a search for warmth. They were skinny, filthy and covered in fleas, but they really were just babies, and doing their best to try and survive.

And two became four.

Once they were fed, given a flea-bath and dried off, they were the fluffiest little furballs Bucky had ever seen. Sisters, most likely from the same litter, one was a beautiful silver and black tabby, and the other was a tuxedo, with white paws and tufts sticking out of her ears. And he didn’t need Hunter’s continuous nosing at them to know he was meant to bring them home.

He named the silver one Athena, and over the next couple of months she grew into the largest cat in all of Brooklyn. She wasn’t fat, just big and muscular, with a lush, thick coat, that made Bucky think she was a purebred Maine-Coon, or perhaps a Norwegian Forest cat. He would have believed it, if not for the fact that in direct contrast, her sister was a tiny little thing, never weighing in at more than five pounds, half of which had to be fur. He started out calling her Artemis, except the name never stuck, because –

_“Jesus-fucking-Christ, what the hell was that?” Jackie jumped a foot in the air the first time he came over to see the latest additions to Bucky’s family._

_“That’s just Tuba. She’s only saying hello. Now get your ass offa my kitchen table.”_

\- she had the loudest meow Bucky had ever heard. Hence, _Tuba_.

Bucky might not have planned to adopt two cats, but he never once regretted the decision. Whenever he came home, Athena loved to jump up and drape herself over his shoulders, her entire body a warm rumble against the back of his neck. And as soon as he sat down anywhere, after she spent the next fifteen minutes climbing the curtains and running halfway up the walls, Tuba would settle in his lap, demanding scritches, which he happily gave her. They got along with the dogs, Hunter being especially fascinated by them, and they finished turning his house into a home.

He christened them the Furnadoes, and thus Bucky’s furry little family was finally complete.

And they helped. They helped so fucking much, all four of Bucky’s beautiful, beloved babies. They all climbed into bed with him at night when it was time to sleep, the cats on his pillow, and Hunter and Hope at his feet. Their warmth, calm breathing, and soothing purrs helped to keep the nightmares at bay, and during the bad days, and there were still lots of them, they were a reason for Bucky to get out of bed. He took Hunter and Hope out with him as much as he could, and if for some reason he couldn’t, he never had to look very far for a pet-sitter.

He may have rescued each and every one of them, but they saved him, and made his life not just bearable, but enjoyable, and full of even more love and laughter than he ever thought he’d have again.

And it wasn’t just him they helped, but the rest of the Howlies as well. Sometimes he would come home, and find Dum Dum curled up in the corner of his couch, his eyes distant but his hands gentle on Athena’s fur. Other times, it would be Monty who was there, cradling Tuba in his arms, tears on his cheeks, but his voice soft as he crooned to her. After a bad night, Gabe would ask if he could be the one to take Hunter for a walk, his shoulders always lowered by the time he returned several hours later. And Jimmie had a unique bond with Hope, and sometimes he would find them sitting together in his back yard, quiet and still, each keeping the other company while the sun slowly set. Jackie claimed to not like animals, but Bucky couldn’t help but notice how his clothes were always covered with fur whenever he left with Monty to head back to their apartment.

“What do you think my mom would have said about all this?” Bucky asked Vera and Ichika one day, sitting on Vera’s back porch, watching his dogs chasing each other in the yard.

“She’d have been so happy for you,” Ichika answered, following Bucky’s gaze. “She loved animals, and believed no family was complete without at least one dog.”

“It’s was a big part of who she was, and it’s nice to see that part of her living on in you,” Vera added. “I’m sure she’s looking down at you from heaven, and smiling.”

Bucky wasn’t a man of faith; after everything he’d seen and been through, it was hard for him to believe in any higher power, even the Fates. But sometimes, every once in a while, late at night, whenever everything in his house was quiet and still, and the Furnadoes were curled around him, he could have sworn he heard the sound of his mother’s pleased laughter.

***

He still never let either Yua or Leo babysit the dogs ever again. You only made that mistake once, and after the dentures and the cane, Bucky had learned his lesson.

***

Two years after he had finally come home, and one year after he first adopted Hunter, Bucky once again stood in his bedroom, looking around at the walls, and took stock of his life. He had seen horrible things, done horrible things, and had horrible things happen to him. But he was still here, and he was still standing.

Not only that, he was actually thriving. His body was as strong as it had ever been, probably even stronger. He hadn’t had a flashback or a panic attack in over nine months, and could usually go for a few weeks without having a nightmare. He had long since finished his last round of physical therapy, and only saw his therapist once a week now.

Even his finances were solid. His house was paid in full, and he hadn’t had many expenses during his time in the Army, so he had a healthy savings account. That didn’t include his monthly pension, nor the payout from his parent’s life insurance policy _(although he would have gladly given that all up, along with every cent he had if it meant he could get them back)_ , but it was what it was, and he had to live with it.

But he had never liked being idle, and he did have an astounding talent for languages. So he’d gone back to work, not as a Sergeant in charge of a unit, or a sniper, but a translator. Given his previous security clearance, it was easy for him to procure work at the UN, which he did part time. Due to his unique skills, accuracy and fluency, his reputation quickly grew, and he now had a roster of international business men and women who he had consultancy contracts with. He was in such demand, it allowed him to pick and choose which assignments he wanted, while allowing him both the opportunity to travel, and enough flexibility in his schedule to keep him from getting bored. He also worked with a few publishing houses, translating best-selling novels for the foreign markets, so he could work from home when he didn’t feel like putting on a suit. It paid well, so he didn’t have to think about touching his savings, he liked the people he was working with, and overall he enjoyed it.

It also kept him closer to his family, which was the most important thing after spending so many years away from them.

Even better than all of that, he wasn’t the only one who was doing well. Jimmie had decided to stay at home, and was living in the bedroom he had grown up in, although they had updated it to suit his more adult tastes. Gabe had made a similar decision, except he was living in his family basement, which they had converted into a modern apartment, so he could have his privacy while still being close. They, along with Jackie, had gotten jobs at Pym Industries, where their own unique skills and intelligence could be applied to developing technology that would help better the world. Monty had gotten a job at a nearby garage, where his skills with automobiles were applied to restoring classic cars, and he seemed to be thriving there. Dum Dum had taken a little longer to decide on what he wanted to do, and had drifted for a bit. But he enjoyed working on Bucky’s house, and had recently applied for an apprenticeship in carpentry, and was looking forward to starting this new phase in his life. 

The Aunties were now his Moms, just like they’d always really been, and they kept him well fed, and were always there to give him a hug when he needed one.

Yua and Leo still bickered, but Yua fed him takoyaki and Leo jerk-chicken, while speaking to him in only Japanese or French, respectively.

It was a good life, one Bucky had put a lot of work into rebuilding, and he was happy with it, in spite all of the challenges he faced.

So of course it would be then that the goddamned motherfucking Grey Space on his upper left arm started to itch.

ADDITIONAL NOTES

In case anyone was wondering about the Furnadoes...

This is Hunter:

Hope:

Athena:

And last, but certainly not least, Tuba!

As you can see, Bucky's little furry family is absolutely gorgeous. =) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to take a moment to say thank you to everyone who commented on the first chapter of this story. There were so many familiar "faces," as well as so many new ones and I can't tell you how much that meant to me. Y'all are the best, and I'm endlessly grateful that you've decided to take a chance on this new story. Thank you. =) =) =)


	3. Chapter 3

Truth be told, Bucky hadn’t thought much about his Grey Space in years. It was there, just like it had always been, a palmed-sized patch of grey discoloration, colder than the rest of his body whenever he touched it, but otherwise completely unremarkable.

When younger, he’d been fascinated by it, poking and prodding at it nearly every day, wondering endlessly about whoever it was that was carrying his matching mark, especially once he understood what it meant.

“You need to leave it alone, Bucky,” his mother used to tell him. “It’ll happen when it’ll happen but only when you’re both ready for it.”

“But I want to meet my soulmate now!” Bucky always complained.

“I know you do, sweetheart, and I’m sure whoever it is, is just as excited to meet you. You’re both just going to have to be patient.”

“But why?” Bucky whined.

“Because you’re stupid, and nobody wants a stupid soulmate.” Becca had _always_ been a brat.

“Becca!” his mother snapped.

“ _You’re_ stupid. And ugly. That’s why you don’t have a Grey Space!”

“Bucky! You know that’s not true. That just means Becca gets to choose who she wants to love. And Becca, that just means the Fates have already decided who that’s going to be for your brother. Now apologize to each other.”

“She started it.”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Children, if the both of you don’t cut it out right now, I won’t take you to Auntie Vera’s for dinner, and will cook it myself instead.” Winifred had always known her strengths, but she had also always known her own weaknesses, and how to use them to get her children to behave.

Still, Bucky had wanted to know more, to understand, so when he finally did meet his soulmate, he’d be ready for them. So he read all the books, watched all the movies and listened to all the songs about soulmates. They made it seem like such a wonderful thing, even if it did sound a bit mushy, but still, a soulmate was supposed to be your bestest bestest friend, that you kissed instead of just playing tag with. He already had Gabe and Jimmie, but he didn’t want to kiss them, as much as he liked them, but if it was someone like Auntie Vera, who made him shrimp and grits, and hushpuppies, or Auntie Ichika, who fed him onigirazu and yummy yummy curries, he would be okay giving them a kiss.

It took him a few years, and the realization he was gay, to understand why the kissing part was important.

All of his research and questions didn’t provide him with any answers. He didn’t know anyone else with a Grey Space he could ask, and none of his doctors had any real answers for him, aside from all the standard ones. Even the doctor who conducted his medical examination prior to being shipped out to Basic hadn’t had much to say about it, only asking him if he’d had any _Sense_ , and when Bucky told him no, put a note in his file and ordered him to let his commanding officer know immediately if that changed. Twenty-five years ago, Bucky wouldn’t have been able to enlist. Those with a Grey Space were considered flight risks, and even for a pair yet unbonded, the damage could be irreparable if one of them was hurt, or even worse, killed in action. That was why it was imperative for Bucky to let them know if his mark started to itch, or he got a Sense. He would immediately be pulled from active duty, his case reviewed, and further options discussed.

Bucky had tried reaching out to his soulmate prior to enlisting, desperately so, pressing his palm to his Grey Space, and sending his thoughts as hard as he could – _I’m joining the Army, what do you think? Do you think I should do it? Are you out there waiting for me? Maybe if I travel more, it’ll bring us closer and I’ll finally find you_ – but there had been nothing, no answer, not even a matching twinge. Just a cold, dark, endless silence that seemed unbreakable and even farther away than Pluto.

During his military career, Bucky hadn’t really had the time to think about it either. And on the few occasions when he thought he wasn’t go to make it, he touched his shoulder briefly and thought _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I hope you’ll be okay_. During his very last mission, Bucky had been in too much pain and busy screaming to think about anything at all.

After he had been released, and his feet firmly set on the path to his recovery, Bucky actually started to feel resentful. Because if there had been any point in time when he had needed the one who was supposed to be his soulmate, the other half of his heart, his missing puzzle piece, it would have been during his capture, or at least afterwards. His world, his soul, had been shattered into a million pieces, to the point where he didn’t think it was ever going to stop bleeding, and the bastard still didn’t care enough to try to reach out to him.

Being marked by a Grey Space made his life difficult in other ways too. It was easy enough to find one night stands, and Bucky had plenty of them in his life, but no one wanted to get seriously involved with someone with a Grey Space, because they were meant for someone else, and nobody wanted to risk pissing off the Fates by getting in the way of their plans. No matter how lonely he sometimes was, or wished for someone to come home to so he could curl up against them at night and tell them about his day, no one was willing to take that chance on him. He had the best friends in the world, a wonderful family, and a beautiful home filled with gorgeous animals, but no one to share it with.

It fucking sucked, and he now hated the fact he had been born with a Grey Space, when it had been a source of wonder and hope for him before.

“You just have to be patient,” Ichika said to him when he confessed some of this to her. “And your mark’s still grey, it hasn’t turned black, so the time just isn’t right yet.”

“I’ve already done all of the hard work by myself, no, I know, not by myself,” he shook his head when she glared at him. “What? He just gets to show up now, when everything’s better, and I’m supposed to be happy about it. Where was he when my mom and dad died? Or when I was too fucking sick to keep any food in my stomach for more than an hour? Where the hell was he then?”

“I don’t know Bucky. But I’m sure wherever he is, there was a reason why your paths haven’t crossed.”

“I’m gonna marry Yua anyway. She was here through it all, and she still makes the best takoyaki I’ve ever eaten.”

“You’ve been saying that since you were six years old,” Ichika laughed. “At least wait to see if your soulmate still has their own teeth.”

Gabe and Jimmie had always known about the Grey Space on Bucky’s arm, just like they had been the first to know he was gay, and so did the rest of the Howlies. They had been fascinated by it at first, asking him question after question Bucky hadn’t been able to answer, teasing him endlessly. But noticing how Bucky no longer smiled about it, scowling instead, they eventually stopped. They loved to poke and prod at each other, could do it for hours at a time, but never with an intent to hurt. And they could all see how something that once brought Bucky pleasure had transformed into a sore spot instead.

No matter what, there was nothing he could do about it, so that’s what he decided to do. _Nothing._ He stopped trying to reach out, stopped waiting to hear a song in his ear, or see something out of the corner of his eye that let him know someone was desperately trying to find him. He didn’t give up, he simply stopped caring. He had better things to do with his time, like digging up Leo’s reading glasses from beneath the tree in his backyard. ( _Dammit O bachan!_ )

He wasn’t that innocent boy who used to run wild in the streets with Gabe and Jimmie, and one of the major changes to have developed since then was a hyper-awareness of his body, especially after his experiences. He was stronger, faster and swore he could see better than he previously could, especially late at night, which weren’t bad things, per se. Frightening at first, certainly, but since he hadn’t starting turning into a werewolf during the full moon, or felt any insatiable cravings for blood, he decided to keep his mouth shut about it, and just keep an eye on it in case anything else changed.

So of course he noticed when that stupid mark on his shoulder started to itch, of course he did.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Now you decide to show up?”

If he noticed, so did Gabe, Jimmie and the rest of the Howlies. They were trained to be vigilant, especially when the smallest detail or change in their surroundings could affect the success of a mission.

“ _Uh-oh,_ ” Jimmie muttered the first time Bucky scratched at his shoulder, during their traditional Saturday night of poker, beer and pizza at Bucky’s house.

“Yeah, I know. Shuddup.” Bucky scratched at it again.

“How long’s that been going on, Bucky?” Gabe asked.

“’Bout a week now. Itches like a motherfucker, and it’s been driving me batshit.”

“Has your mark changed? Any colors?” Dum Dum wanted to know.

“Have you gotten a Sense yet? Which one is it?” Monty followed up with.

“No, no and I don’t fucking care. Now gimme two more,” Bucky grumbled, tossing two cards from his hand down on the table.

“Aw c’mon Sarge, it’s a pretty big deal. We’ve all been waiting for this to happen,” Jackie said, dealing Bucky new cards.

“What?” Bucky looked up from his hand.

“Seriously. He has to meet our approval before he can get anywhere near you,” Dum Dum nodded. His boys, his boys, they really were the best guys in the world.

“What did you put your money down on Dum Dum? Was it chef?” Monty cut in.

“No, that was me,” Gabe answered. “Dum Dum put a hundred down on him being a baker.”

“My money still says it’s going to end up being the owner of a food cart,” Jackie said as he dealt Jimmie three more cards.

What?

“I have to disagree. We all know Bucky loves his food, but he loves his coffee even more, especially in the morning. I still think it’s going to be a barista. Even the Fates can’t argue with free coffee and pastries,” was Monty’s opinion on the entire thing.

_What?_

“I dunno,” Jimmie shrugged. “I know it’s low odds, since it means Bucky’s bond would be platonic, but I agree with O bachan. It’s probably some nice Japanese woman, who really knows how to cook. I think if given a choice, Bucky would choose food over sex any day of the week.”

Fuck what he had just thought. These idiots were the worst assholes in the world. He was going to shoot each and every one of them in the ass as soon as they left his house.

***

They weren’t wrong though. Bucky did love his food. Who could blame him, when he’d grown up surrounded by the world’s best cooks, who loved to feed him.

So of course, when he did get his Sense, the Fates had to ruin even that.

***

About a week after that poker game, where Bucky _didn’t_ shoot those assholes in the ass, although he wanted to, he really, _really_ did, he had just finished his shower and was getting ready for bed, when his Grey Space started to itch. Bucky rolled his eyes and scratched at it, then settled under the covers, the Furnadoes all jumping in bed to join him. It had been a long day, and he’d been a bit twitchy, so he was looking forward to closing his eyes. He had a new book he needed to start translating, but his deadline was far enough away, tomorrow was Sunday and he was planning on doing nothing more than relaxing for the next twenty-four hours.

He was questioning if his toothpaste had somehow gone off, because he had just brushed his teeth, but it wasn’t mint he was tasting. Instead there was a heavy, flat feeling on his tongue, almost viscous, like plaster maybe or… _paint?_

And that’s when it hit him. He was getting a _Sense_ , his first one.

Everyone, those supposedly lucky few, who had a Grey Space and since met their soulmate talked about it, the Sense, and how it was one of the best days in their life, because it meant that soon, _soon,_ they would be meeting their predestined beloved. It was a moment of joy, because after a lifetime of waiting, the first part of the bridge had been built, and there was now a way for you to communicate with your soulmate. It wasn’t going to be easy, because the Fates wanted you to work for your bond, prove you were worthy enough of the gift they had bestowed upon you, but it was worth it.

Bucky had wondered about it, of course he had, the _when_ and especially the _how_ of it. And in spite of his bitching and moaning, once his Grey Space started to itch, a light had been lit in his chest, a hope, because yeah, okay, he may have had to deal with a hell of a lot of shit in his life without his soulmate by his side, but things were going really, really well now, and he could continue to build on that, something better and even more beautiful, with the other half of his heart at his side.

And it looked as if the Sense he was going to share was _taste_. The rarest one of all, but a perfect choice for Bucky. It meant he could share with his soulmate all the wonders of the world, in the way he had come to know them best. He was going to feed the hell out of his soulmate, exposing him to all the delights that could be found at his family’s table, and was excited to sample all the things his as of yet unknown bonded had grown up eating as well. It was a good start, and somehow they would manage to find their way to each other.

Except as he lay there, rolling his tongue around in his mouth, he couldn’t help but frown. Because what he was tasting wasn’t a succulent piece of meat, the crisp bite of a perfectly sliced vegetable, the glorious sweetness of fruit, or the rich sensation of something dark and deep like chocolate. It was actually kind of plain, boring, and even worse…absolutely tasteless. With the consistency of mud? Or possibly glue? And this was the first taste, the first secret kiss of what he could expect?

What the hell was the bastard eating?

“Oh, are you fucking kidding me?”

***

Bucky tried, of course he tried.

He went back to all of his favorite books and websites, carefully tried to remember everything every doctor had ever told him. He knew at the beginning the Sense was spontaneous, not something that could be controlled, that would happen when it happened. That would change over time, as both soulmates realized what was occuring, and the Sense strengthened as they deliberately started to search for each other. You couldn’t force it, but a few pairs who had experienced it before said that if you were able to calm your breathing, empty your mind of all other thoughts and distractions, you could find the thread, shivery and insubstantial, and send a thought, a soundless whisper, to let your soulmate know you were there, had heard and were waiting.

Bucky was a sniper, probably the best damned sniper in the world, who had never once missed a shot in life. He knew how to be patient and quiet, perfectly still for hours at a time, with his focus turned both inward and outward, while his senses, his normal ones, scanned his surroundings for the teeniest, tiniest of flickers that told him his target had been acquired and it was time to pull the trigger.

That wasn’t his goal here, but he could put those same skills to use, and complete his self-assigned task. He would need to think about it, first come up with a plan, because only a fool rushed into these things blindly. And as far as he could tell, it didn’t seem as if whoever it was at the other end of his Red String of Fate even realized they were Sensing each other yet. He would need to find a nice way to introduce himself.

For his introductory meal, he decided to make his father’s cioppino. As much as he absolutely loved all of Vera, Ichika, Yua and Leo’s cooking, it was still Bucky’s favorite dish. George always made it for him whenever Bucky had done something he was proud of. It was meal his father fed him the day he came out to his parents. And it was the meal George happily prepared for him when he told his family he had been accepted to the linguistics program at Columbia on a full scholarship. Extra servings of it the night before Bucky shipped out. And the final meal he had eaten with his family, the people he loved most in the world, during his last leave, after which he never saw them again.

And sometimes, most times, just because George had loved his oldest son, and took great pleasure in feeding him his favorite fish soup.

Bucky had so many memories of standing in the kitchen at his father’s side, talking and laughing with him, asking for advice, while the scent of tomatoes, garlic and seafood drifted through the air, the most sacred language of love Bucky had ever learned. He was a good cook, if not the greatest, but that was one recipe he would never, ever forget.

His father’s legacy, and there could be no better introduction of who he was than cioppino.

So he went to his local fish market, carefully selecting only the freshest and juiciest pieces of fish, chopped garlic, and simmered and stirred, while Athena and Tuba meowed and pawed at his ankles, desperately curious about what Bucky was making.

A few hours later, accompanied by a glass of white wine, and a piece of crusty Italian bread, Bucky sat quietly at his kitchen table, put a spoonful of cioppino in his mouth, and said _hello._

Except, there was nothing.

Bucky hadn’t known what to expect, but he thought it would be more than just _nothing_. He’d had his first Sense, so he knew the bridge was there, even if it wasn’t complete. His soulmate had to be aware of him by now. If Bucky’s Grey Space was itching, then from by all accounts so should his soulmate’s. Maybe they were sleeping? Or they didn’t like fish? It was possible, but still, the cioppino was damned good, and worth at least a twinge.

All right, fine. He would just have to reassess and try something else.

After he finished his cioppino.

***

For his second attempt, Bucky decided to go with something sweet. Not just sweet, but unique as well, and everybody knew about Dr Pepper soda. Either you loved or hated it, but its syrupy sweet cherry flavor, that did have a hint of cough syrup to it, was pretty distinct. It had a tendency to make you burp if you drank too much of it too fast, but what were a few burps in comparison to knowing your soulmate was out there, trying to contact you. Bucky liked it well enough, so on another quiet night, he drank an entire litre of the stuff, and waited.

And still nothing. Except, maybe there…a slight gagging sensation.

“Oh come on, it’s not _that_ bad,” Bucky said before he burped.

There was still no response. And the guy, whoever he was, _had_ to be aware of the Sense by now. Bucky had gotten plenty of them; always the same bland taste and gummy texture on his tongue. It was actually kind of insulting after the cioppino Bucky so carefully prepared. And Dr Pepper sure as hell had to be better than whatever it was the idiot was eating.

It had been two weeks of this shit already, and even though everything he read told him he needed to be patient, Bucky was getting tired of this.

It was time to bring out the big guns.

***

“What the hell is that?” Dum Dum asked as he entered the kitchen, Jimmie and Gabe on his heels, while Bucky pulled out the small black and red packaging from the box that had just been delivered.

“It’s called the Paqui One Chip Challenge,” Bucky explained as he tossed the now empty larger box to the floor so Athena and Tuba could fight over it.

“I thought you did that already.” Jimmie bent over to say hello to both Hunter and Hope.

“He did,” Gabe nodded. “He barely even blinked and then laughed at everybody else online who couldn’t even make it two minutes.”

“Then why are you doing it again?” Jimmie asked.

“Because I’m sick and tired of being ignored,” Bucky said, tucking the small box under his arm and stalking out of the kitchen.

_“Uh-oh.”_

***

That night, Bucky waited until three o’clock in the morning, when once again the entire house was silent and still, opened the red and black box, and popped the single blue-corn chip covered in Carolina Reaper Pepper seasoning into his mouth, and waited.

Yeah, it tingled a bit, but Bucky loved spicy food, the spicier the better, and he’d grown up eating foods covered in wasabi, scorching Asian mustards, and Pappi Leo’s incendiary jerk-chicken. This was nothing compared to that.

A few minutes later, he got a response; a feeling of shock, pain and anger.

“Yeah, you finally noticed, didn’t you?”

***

Two days later, Bucky decided to change tactics. Only a fool did the same thing twice on a mission and risked becoming predictable.

At ten a.m., he sat down in his home office, lined up the dozen small packets on his desk while he waited for his laptop to boot up, and began to doublecheck the latest document he was working on translating. Halfway through the first paragraph, he reached over and picked one up, ripped open the top, and poured the entire pouch of grape flavored Pop Rocks into his mouth.

Five minutes later, while the grape flavor burst and crackled on his tongue, he did the same with the packet of cherry flavored ones. A few minutes after that, he added the orange, so his entire mouth was filled with a ceaseless stream of pops, snaps and explosions of flavor. It didn’t bother him; he had loved Pop Rocks growing up, and his tongue was certainly made of stronger stuff than anything a candy could irritate. He kept his mouth open for maximum effect, and it was so loud Hunter decided to poke his nose at Bucky’s mouth, curious as to what was going on.

“Eedy der Hunder. Id oday,” Bucky assured him through his parted lips, scratching at his boy’s ear. “Jub fudding wid da abbhole.”

Hunter seemed satisfied with that answer, and Bucky went back to work, his mouth crackling away, while a sense of panic and humiliation echoed back at him.

_That’s what you get_ , Bucky thought, before taking a swig of Coke to make the popping even louder.

***

For round three, Bucky decided to change it up once again, this time going for sour. Just like he had an undeniable love for spicy food, Bucky also really enjoyed sour things; the way it made his lips pucker, his mouth salivate, and those two points right beneath his jaw tingle. Same as with heat, the sourer the better, as far as Bucky was concerned.

And Yua had a secret recipe for the best pickled lemons Bucky had ever tasted, and she always slipped him a few extra jars when she made a batch, since she knew how much he loved them.

They were meant to be a garnish, served with fish or over a rice dish, but whenever Bucky was in the mood for something just a little bit _extra_ , he ate them straight out of the jar, their swift, sharp bite and bitter tang a symphony on his tongue. God, he _loved_ the way Asian cuisine used vinegar and spices to transform the most common foods into the most glorious delicacies.

So five days after the Pop Rocks, when he still hadn’t really received any response from the idiot on the other end of his string, Bucky settled on the couch with one of Yua’s mason jars in his left hand, and a fork in his right, waited for Tuba to settle in his lap, turned on the television, and dug in.

This particular batch was especially sour, making him smile, and he would have to remember to kiss Yua’s cheek in thanks when he returned the jar to her.

And if the burst of sudden shock and stunned _oof_ he felt coming through the bond a few minutes later only made it better, well, nobody had to know why.

***

The thing of it was, even if Bucky had decided to engage more drastic tactics, it seemed to be having no effect. Oh sure, there were emotional bursts coming through in reaction to the extreme _(although not to him)_ flavors he was using as his calling card, but not really a response or any changes, from what he could tell, in his soulmate’s eating habits.

In fact, if anything, his soulmate seemed to have an extremely limited and boring diet, practically the same exact things day after day. At first Bucky worried there was some sort of stomach issue, or maybe even an eating disorder. Perhaps his soulmate was struggling with financial troubles, and that was all he could afford.

After some careful consideration, Bucky discarded that idea. Because as boring as his soulmate’s meals were, he never got a sense of hunger or indigestion through the bond. If nothing else, his soulmate seemed to eat on a regular schedule, and was well-fed.

Still, the concerns about his soulmate’s diet bothered him, and he couldn’t help but poke and prod at it, turning it over and over in his head, trying to come to some sort of conclusion.

About two and a half weeks after the whole thing started, he figured it out, and it _pissed. Him. Off._

Because it had finally clicked, and Bucky now recognized what it was he was tasting whenever his soulmate sat down to eat.

The bland, mud-like consistency, and the chewy, wet cardboard. It was fucking protein shakes and power bars, two of the very few things, along with raisins, that could actually make him gag. And that’s what his soulmate was living on.

Bucky had drunk plenty of those shakes, and forced himself to swallow enough of those protein bars to last him a million years. Even worse than MREs, they were quick, efficient sources of both protein and energy, that had gotten him and the Howlies through plenty of missions when food had been the lowest of priorities. He _hated_ those fucking things, and would gladly never eat one again for the rest of his life. And this fucker was living on them?

Which led him to his second realization, which only enraged him further. As disgusting as they were, those shakes, powders and bars weren’t cheap. What they lacked in flavor, they made up for in cost, and very few people were devoted enough, or could tolerate the taste enough, to eat them for every single meal.

Usually it was only fucking body-builders who did.

Which meant Bucky’s soulmate, the other half of his heart, the one destined for him, tied to his life through a Red String of Fate, was a fucking gym rat, who probably spent most of his life pumping iron. Some goddamned, muscle-bound meat-head, who very likely didn’t have any balls left, because he was too busy shooting up steroids, with more veins bulging from his arms than he had functioning braincells in his head.

Bucky didn’t have a soulmate; the Fates, being the assholes that they were, had chained him to a…a…a goddamned motherfucking _swolemate_.

It wasn’t that Bucky had anything against physical fitness or exercise. He’d always been active as a kid, and seven years in the military, running the missions he had run, had instilled in him a healthy respect for a strong body. He still did a five-mile run, nearly every single day, and went to the gym three times a week to do some weightlifting of his own. And because it had become habit to all of them by now, _(along with a good, healthy dose of paranoia)_ , he and the rest of the Howlies still trained together to make sure they were at peak physical fitness. It prevented Gabe’s hip from acting up on him too much, and it helped release some of Jimmie’s now nearly constant pent up energy, and they liked knowing they were still at the top of their game.

But there was a big difference between working out to maintain your agility and endurance, and going to the gym solely to add bulk to your body. Those idiots always thought size equaled strength. But Jackie, who was the shortest of them all at only five-foot-eight, and weighing in at one-third of one of those idiot’s weight, could easily take any of those fools down with one hand tied behind his back, and had in the past. It wasn’t how much you had, but how you used what you did that really mattered.

And yeah, Bucky could admit, he liked looking at a nice body, _(who didn’t?)_ , and was proud of his own. But even in his younger years, when he fantasized about what his future soulmate was going to look like, he always imagined someone a little softer, a little fuller, than his own still bony frame. Someone whose rounder edges could yield to his sharper ones, who he could cuddle close to ( _he was a cuddler, okay? He felt no shame about that_ ), in a warm pile on their couch, while they shared their favorite foods with one another. And this was what the Fates decided to stick him with?

_Oh hell no._

That’s when Bucky decided it was time to get nasty.

***

“ _What the fuck is that?_ ” Jimmie demanded to know with a scowl, when he once again showed up in Bucky’s kitchen.

“And why the hell does it smell like vomit and feet?” Monty asked from over his shoulder, while behind him Jackie started to make gagging noises.

“Please make him get rid of it, I’m begging you,” Dum Dum pleaded. “He brought that shit home over an hour ago, and it stinks so bad I could smell it in the basement.”

“It’s not shit,” Bucky said, cutting himself another slice. “It’s Limburger. I picked some up from Trader Joe’s on my way home from work.” Yeah, it was pungent, but once you got past the smell, it was actually quite tasty, different from anything Bucky had tried before, but still interesting.

“It smells like death farted in here,” Monty mumbled from behind his sleeve.

“Why are you putting that in your mouth?” Jackie’s eyes were bulging from his head.

“Please, somebody, take it away. I’m begging you. Even the dogs ran away when he unwrapped it, and I have no idea where the cats went.” There were actual tears in Dum Dum’s eyes. _Wimp._

“Wanna tell us what’s going on, Bucky?” Gabe asked, sitting down at the kitchen table, although not too close, Bucky couldn’t help but notice. He really was the calmest of them all, and why he had been Bucky’s second-in-command.

Bucky cut another piece of the Limburger, popped it into his mouth, rind and all, making sure to coat his entire tongue with the pungent cheese, before he slowly swallowed, and announced to the room at large,

“I’m fucking with my soulmate.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone was wondering about the Paqui One Chip Challenge, you can find out more about it [here](https://paqui.com/), and see the results of someone trying it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T_n0_YNzOVk&feature=youtu.be). 
> 
> As you can see, Bucky wasn't playing around. 🔥🔥🔥
> 
> And next chapter, Steve finally strikes back. 😎
> 
> ETA - There is some NEW and AMAZING artwork by Mags! As you can see by his wonderfully evil grin (which I ADORE) Bucky is NOT playing around. 🤣🤣🤣


	4. Chapter 4

Steve was at his wit’s end. He really, really was. It had gotten to the point where he was always carrying antacid tablets in his pocket, and walking around in a near constant state of fear, because apparently his soulmate, whoever that motherfucker was, was either a masochist or trying to murder him.

Steve had no idea what he’d done to piss the piece-of-shit off, or what he hoped to achieve by killing him. Yeah, Steve had money, a hell of a lot of it, from his back pay and the salary he earned by leading the Avengers, but there was no way his soulmate could have known that. And they weren’t registered as soulmates, so it wasn’t as if he would receive a single cent if Steve did die.

Steve didn’t understand why his soulmate seemed so intent on torturing him. It was supposed to be a blessing, a beautiful thing, a gift from the Fates to be held sacred and treasured. Yet somehow Steve had gotten stuck with some mean sonuvabitch who was determined to make his life hell, and even worse, embarrass him in front of Pepper.

Well, Steve had always been a tough sonuvabitch of his own; poverty and sickness hadn’t killed him growing up, nor had World War Two. Steve had even survived being frozen in ice for nearly seventy years. If that shithead thought he was going to go down without a fight, he had another think coming.

So after he rinsed out his mouth for the fifteenth time, and apologized _profusely_ to Pepper, promising her it wasn’t her cooking that upset his stomach, Steve picked up the raw onion from where he’d dropped it to the floor, and headed back up to his apartment.

It was time for him to strike back.

***

_Raw onion. Huh._

That was interesting. Ineffective but interesting, Bucky thought as he lay in bed that night, smacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth to make sure he was getting it right. It seemed the blockhead had gotten his message, and was trying to send one of his own.

It was a weak one, as far as opening ripostes went. Bucky had no problem with raw onions, sweet or otherwise, and they were really, really good in a salad.

“Pathetic,” he muttered as he turned off his bedside lamp. If his idiot swolemate thought onions were going to stop him, Bucky was really going to give him something to cry about.

***

Two days later, Steve was actually feeling pretty good about things. His Grey Space was still itching, but after he had forced himself to chew and swallow every last piece of that raw onion, there hadn’t been another single tingle from his Sense. No burning, no sourness, not even the slightest twitch of indigestion, his stomach was perfectly calm.

As Steve prepared his standard breakfast shake, cracking two raw eggs into the blender, he was actually optimistic that whatever game his idiotic soulmate had been trying to play was over, and his life would go back to normal.

Or at least he did until twenty minutes after he finished his second shake, and was reviewing the latest data packet Maria wanted him to analyze, when he was hit by the slimiest, thickest sensation at the back of his throat.

“Oh no.”

Exactly like cold mucus, chewy and gross, that again had his throat convulsing, and regretting the day Coulson made him realize he now had a soulmate.

“Just you wait, you sonuvabitch. I’ll show you!”

After he finished gagging.

***

“Raw oysters for breakfast, Bucky? Really?” Vera asked, when she saw what Bucky was eating.

“He’s on his twentieth one,” Jimmie told her.

“It’s a delicacy,” Bucky answered, as he swallowed the mollusk whole.

“It’s _disgusting_ ,” Dum Dum grumbled.

“It’s _war_ ,” Bucky said, cracking open the next shell.

***

All of his life, Steve had been a big believer in justice and fair play, and he liked to think he was respecting his parents, living his life in a way that would have made the both of them proud of him, with honor, courage and a belief that all human beings deserved to be treated with kindness and respect.

But sometimes, well, sometimes extreme measures were required for the good of all mankind. And Steve had always hated being backed into a corner. Then again, being backed into a corner only meant was going to come out swinging, and his punches were a hell of a lot harder now than they had been when Arnie first dragged him to that boxing ring in order to teach him how to fight.

“Just remember,” Steve said, as he started to unscrew the lids on the three jars he had lined up on his kitchen counter. “You brought this on yourself.”

***

“Pickle juice and mayonnaise, is it? Okay, I’ll give you a few points for effort,” Bucky shrugged to himself. “Not much, but a few, ‘cos it’s the most creative you’ve been so far. But you can definitely do better than that.” Bucky reached for the small plastic bag in the top drawer of his nightstand. “And so can I.” Bucky ripped the packaging open.

“Let’s see how you feel about salted black licorice.” Bucky paused to pop one of the dusty colored candies into his mouth, already salivating excitedly at the taste he knew was to come. “ _Dumbass._ ”

***

“What is Steve doing on the floor?” Natasha asked as she walked into the common area, only to find Steve curled on his side, whimpering.

“He’s been like that for the past fifteen minutes,” Clint responded from somewhere up in the rafters. “Begging us to kill him.”

“Oh get up, you big baby,” Natasha said, grabbing Steve by the wrist and hauling him to his feet. “I know you hate it as much as I do whenever Tony calls a meeting, but he’s supposedly got some new intel we need to go over, and if I have to spend the next hour listening to him babbling, so do you.”

“Kill me, just kill me now.”

***

However, every cloud had its silver lining, as his mom used to say. Tony’s intel and subsequent analysis meant they needed to board the Quinjet and head out for another mission as soon as possible.

They wound up spending the next three days trekking through yet another hot, humid and bug infested jungle, _(Steve really fucking hated jungles at this point in his life)_ , while they searched for the hidden AIM lab that all indications told them was in the process of developing some seriously virulent biological weapons. But they did find it, and after safely destroying all the samples in the labs, they made sure the base was decommissioned _(by blowing it up, Steve’s favorite part)_.

As they slouched together in the back of the Quinjet, each daydreaming about the showers they were going to take as soon as they got back to the Tower, Steve was struck with a bit of inspiration.

He knew it was nasty, and extreme, even for him, but as he wiggled his sweaty toes in his rank socks, he couldn’t help the smile he felt curling his lips. He was probably going to end up suffering just as much as the asshole he was bonded to, but it was definitely going to be worth it.

Upon their return, once he finished scrubbing the sweat and grime from his skin, Steve reached for the dirty pile of laundry he’d left on his bathroom floor, picked up the sock he’d been sweating in non-stop for the past three days, popped it into his mouth, and started to suck.

***

“ _Oh you fucker! You shit-sucking, maggot-brained, I’m-going-to-feed-your-liver-to-my-dogs-myself, goddammed, piss-on-your-face motherfucker!_ ” Bucky could be heard shouting into the night ten minutes later.

***

The best thing about having all of his boys living so close was that they were always on hand when Bucky needed them. Loyal to the end, they were a brilliant bunch, always able to find creative ways to solve any problems Bucky presented to them.

Once Bucky asked them for help on his latest mission, not only did they agree, they set to it with a fierce determination and gleeful will, that would have made them world famous if they hadn’t been running Black Ops. They had never once failed him, and it was rare they balked from one of the tasks he assigned, but every once in a while, Bucky _did_ do something that pushed even them to their limits.

“Nope,” Jimmie said, shaking his head and turning right back around to cross the street once he saw what Bucky had in his lap.

“At least he’s eating it outside this time,” Dum Dum sighed in relief.

“I thought Japanese people considered durian a delicacy,” Monty called out to Jimmie’s retreating back.

“I like cheeseburgers!” Jimmie shouted, his pace never faltering. “That shit smells like dead people and pig shit!”

“It’s not that bad!” Bucky yelled. Yeah, the smell was pretty intense, but once you got past that, it was actually pretty good; rich and creamy, similar to pudding, with a hint of banana and almonds, and Bucky actually really liked it.

“Fuck you Bucky!”

“It really, really is,” Dum Dum moaned.

“Shows what you know. More for me then.” Bucky reached for his spoon.

Bucky was on his third bite, Dum Dum and Monty whimpering at his side, when he heard Yua’s voice calling for him in Japanese, “Bucky! Are you eating durian and not sharing any of it with me? We raised you better than that!”

“Sorry O bachan!”

***

“Oh my god. Just…oh my god.” Steve was practically sobbing as he lay on the couch, wanting it to stop, just stop, _please god, please, make it stop_.

“JARVIS, did Clint leave a dead body in the air vents and not tell anybody?”

_‘I am sorry Captain, but while I am concerned as to why you are asking me that, I can assure you that no, there are no dead bodies currently in any of my air vents.’_

“So it’s just me then?” Steve had to ask, even though he knew it was.

_‘I am afraid so Captain. Are you certain you don’t want me to contact the medical team?’_

“No, no, that’s all right. Just tell my mother that I loved her.”

_‘Certainly, Captain.’_

***

Desperate times called for desperate measures, and Steve had always done his best thinking on the field. And the times certainly were desperate right now, Steve had to admit, as he turned down the next aisle of the closest grocery store.

But when an opportunity presented itself, well, Steve certainly knew how to take advantage of it. It was his duty to, since he was Captain America after all.

So when he saw the shelves filled with dog food, instead of the antacids he’d been looking for, he knew exactly what form his next attack would take.

***

“Dog biscuits? Really?” Bucky asked no one in particular. “I give you durian, and you feed me dog biscuits? _Pfft._ It’s not like I haven’t eaten worse things.” Bucky sucked on his teeth and shook his head at both Hunter and Hope. “I don’t know who you think you’re dealing with punk, but I can do this all day.”

***

“Nope.” Jimmie turned around and walked right back out of the kitchen he had just entered, where Bucky was sharing breakfast with Yua.

“It’s traditional!” Bucky called after him.

“It’s disgusting!” Jimmie called back.

“It’s just natto!” Bucky argued.

“It’s nasty! Why would you waste your time eating that shit when you could be eating cheeseburgers instead!” Jimmie really, _really_ liked his cheeseburgers.

“Don’t listen to him, Bucky-chan,” Yua smiled at him. “You just keep eating your O bachan’s natto. It’s the reason you never got sick growing up, and why you’re going to live to be a hundred. Everybody knows that.”

“Oishi O bachan,” Buck told her, meaning it with all his heart. She just patted his hand with her old weathered one, before placing another spoonful of the snot-colored, fermented soy beans onto his plate.

***

Right then. Right. It was time to stop messing around. If this fuckface wanted to play, it was time for him to discover why Steven Grant Rogers had been chosen for Project Rebirth by Abraham Erskine himself, and was the current leader of the Avengers.

“Remember son, you asked for this,” he said, popping the can he had spent hours shopping for into his can opener.

***

“Gefilte fish? Really? I ate four entire bowls of natto, and would have eaten another one, if Momma Ichika hadn’t thrown me and O bachan out of the kitchen herself, and you’re coming back at me with gefilte fish? That shit’s awesome on toasted pumpernickel bread.” Bucky shook his head. “You poor, sweet, innocent, little summer child. You want fish, I’ll give you fish.”

***

“Nope,” Jimmie turned around and headed back to his house, without once looking back.

“What the hell are you putting in your mouth this time?” Gabe asked.

“Surströmming,” Bucky answered as he pulled the rest of the lid off of the can.

“What the fuck is surströmming?” Gabe coughed.

“According to Google, it’s the smelliest fish in the world,” Jackie read from his phone.

“No kidding,” Monty grunted, covering his face with a handkerchief.

“At least he promised if he was going to keep eating this shit, he would only do it outside,” Dum Dum groaned.

It was only fair; Dum Dum was paying rent to live in his basement, although Bucky had argued against it at first, since he didn’t need the money. But Dum Dum had insisted, and Bucky could recognize pride when he saw it, so after they agreed on an amount, much lower than the market rate, they shook on it, and that was that.

And the surströmming didn’t smell _that_ bad. _(Okay, even Bucky had to admit that it did.)_ But his boys, especially Jimmie and Gabe, should have known him better than that by now. It was a well-known fact that not only did he have a cast iron stomach, but he loved to try new things. They had all witnessed him eagerly and happily try snake, alligator and ostrich meat, pigeon and squirrel. Bat-spit soup, Rocky Mountain Oysters, century eggs, blood sausages, fried chicken feet and haggis. Bucky loved to eat, took an honest joy in trying anything at least once, and there were very few things he wouldn’t put in his mouth. He drew the line at bugs, although he had chewed on a tequila worm or two in his day, ( _it was where the tequila was most concentrated, okay? And the worms weren’t really all that bad_ ), and sannakji ( _as much as Bucky loved Yua’s takoyaki, even his stomach rebelled at the thought of eating octopus while it was still alive_ ), and raisins _(just, no)_. Food was life and love, and what families came together over at the end of a long day, with a rich history behind it.

So really, what was a bit of a strong smell when you got to eat something that had fed an entire nation for generations?

And if Bucky’s choices pissed off his sock-sucking asshole of a swolemate, even better.

“I swear to god Bucky, only you would figure out a way to turn food into a weapon,” Gabe grumbled.

“Heh,” Bucky chuckled around a mouthful of the herring. It was actually pretty tasty, once you got past the smell. “It’s good. You wanna try it?” Bucky held out a forkful to Gabe.

“Hell no!” Gabe waved his hands in front of his face.

“ _Are you stupid boys playing with another dead body over there?_ ” Leo shouted at them from the Jones’ porch. Jimmie was long gone.

“Can I please move in with your family, Jonesie? Please?” Dum Dum begged.

***

For the first time, the very first time in his life, Steve had to admit defeat. At this point, he didn’t even care about winning anymore, because it was obvious he had more than met his match. After weeks of this, he just wanted it to stop.

Please.

Just.

Stop.

His soulmate’s tactics were relentless, and he spared a second to wonder if he had somehow been bonded to a HYDRA mad scientist, before for the second time, in less than eight weeks, while he was in Sam’s suite of rooms at the Tower watching a movie with Sam and Natasha, he had to bolt from the couch and into the bathroom to puke.

“That’s the second time I’ve seen you throw up in two months. What the hell is going on with you, man?” Sam asked, as he helped Steve to his feet once he was done retching. The taste, whatever the hell that taste was, was still there, and Steve was certain if he hadn’t already emptied the contents of his stomach, he would still be vomiting.

“’M fine,” Steve mumbled, shaking his head.

“I have to agree with him, Steve, this isn’t normal, especially not for you,” Natasha said, as she gently wiped his face clean with a cool, damp washcloth. “We need to bring you down to medical, have Dr. Cho or maybe even Bruce run some tests.”

“Not sick,” Steve argued, although he might be again if the fucking taste didn’t go away.

“After what just happened, I have to disagree.” Sam crossed his arms, and got that determined _don’t-fuck-with-me-Steve_ look on his face that Steve hated.

“Not sick,” Steve repeated. “It’s just my asshole of a soulmate fucking with me again.”

“ _What?_ ” both of their shocked voices echoed against the marble tiles of the bathroom.

***

“You have a soulmate?” Natasha asked, twenty minutes, some mouthwash, and three glasses of ginger-ale later.

“JARVIS, enter privacy mode, and please delete all records of this conversation once it’s complete, authorization Captain Steven Grant Rogers.”

_‘Confirmed, Captain Rogers. And may I offer you my personal congratulations. From what I understand, it is a very rare occurrence, and it would certainly explain the recent behavior I have observed.’_

“Thanks JARVIS,” Steve nodded, turning his attention back to Natasha and Sam, whose eyebrow had twitched at his request. “And yeah, I do.”

“That certainly wasn’t in any of the history books,” Sam said.

“Or your current files,” Natasha frowned. Well look at that, it seemed as if Fury, whatever rock he had crawled under since the Project Insight disaster, still liked to keep his secrets, even from Natasha. She was probably more surprised than he was about that.

“I wasn’t born with a Grey Space, and I didn’t have one when I went into the ice,” Steve confessed.

“But you did when you woke up?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” Steve tapped his upper right shoulder, “here.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Natasha pressed.

“Because it’s private,” Steve said softly. “Always has been. And it’s one of the few things left that people can’t pretend they already know about me.”

“Your Grey Space’s been itching?” Sam asked.

“Yeah,” Steve nodded again. “Started ‘bout two months ago.”

“And you’ve gotten a Sense?” was Sam’s follow-up question.

“Coupla weeks now.”

“Why didn’t you say anything about it, Steve?” And of all things, Natasha looked hurt, an expression Steve had never seen on her face before. “We’re your friends, and we would have been happy to help you figure it out.”

“Because it’s private,” Steve repeated, before shaking his head. “And it doesn’t matter anyway.”

“ _What?_ ” Sam asked.

“Whoever it is, they’re an asshole, and have been trying to poison me to death,” Steve chuckled dryly over Sam’s protests. “That’s why I’ve been puking lately.”

“Your Sense is _taste?_ ”

“That’s a rare one,” Natasha tilted her head, “even rarer than having a Grey Space.”

“It may be rare, but it fucking sucks, and I hate it.”

“I think you need to tell us everything that’s been going on these past two months,” Natasha declared, resting her elbows on Sam’s kitchen counter, and narrowing her bright green eyes at him. “Starting right now.”

***

Steve did. He told them about the burning, the popping, the sour lemon that still made Steve’s face pucker just thinking about it, the horrible feet and vomit taste that had caused him to throw up the first time. How he had been so angry he started to fight back with the raw onion, and pickle juice and mayonnaise milkshakes. By the time he got to the point where he was crunching dog biscuits and sucking on his own socks, Natasha looked horrified, and Sam had buried his face in his hands, with a mumbled, _“Greatest strategic fucking mind of the century, my ass.”_ Steve was then forced to admit that no matter what he did, when his soulmate countered, it was always something worse, to the point where Steve was actually considering cutting off his own tongue so he would stop being forced to taste things that reminded him of feet, vomit and dead corpses at random times during the day.

That was why he announced, “That when I do finally meet whoever it is for the first time, I’m going to punch them in the fucking face.”

“You’re a goddamned idiot, Steve!” Sam snapped, causing both Natasha and Steve to stare at him.

“You’ve been given a gift, an amazing one.” Sam paused to take a deep, shuddering breath. “It’s a miracle, and you have no idea how it’s going to change things for you. Your soulmate, whoever they are, is going to make such a huge difference in your life, and if you could just get your head out of your own goddamned ass for more than ten seconds, you’d see that.”

“Sam,” Steve felt his brow furrowing. “How do you know this? Do…do you have a Grey Space too?” Sam had never mentioned one, which didn’t make any sense. But when Sam closed his eyes, and took another deep breath, Steve suddenly knew he didn’t want that answer. Because from the look on Sam’s face, it wasn’t going to be a happy one.

“I had one,” Sam said, lifting up his shirt, and pulling down the waistband of his jeans, where Steve could make out what looked like two wings on the upper crest of his hipbone. Two _black_ wings. His mother’s mark had been black, and he knew exactly what that meant.

“Oh Sam, I’m so sorry,” Steve whispered.

“Riley, my wingman, and…and my soulmate,” Sam swallowed. “We didn’t have long together, just a few years before I lost him. But those were the three best damned years of my life, and I wouldn’t give them up, for anything.” Sam lowered his shirt and straightened his shoulders. “And yeah, I get why you didn’t tell us, ‘cos it _is_ something really, really private and personal. But you best believe me when I tell you, you need to cut this shit out and figure out a way to find them. ‘Cos once you do, it’s going to be worth all the puking, dead bodies and stinky feet in the world.”

“I’ve been trying Sam, but I don’t know what do anymore,” Steve conceded.

“We’ll figure something out,” Natasha cut in. “We brought down SHIELD and blew up half of DC all in the same day. We can figure out a way to help you find one single person, with questionable food tastes.”

And for the first time, in far too long, when Steve thought about his Grey Space and his soulmate, he actually laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit about some of the foods mentioned in this chapter:
> 
> Durian's smell is so potent, it's actually been [banned](https://theculturetrip.com/asia/singapore/articles/8-things-you-need-to-know-about-durian-the-worlds-smelliest-fruit/) on public transportation in a few countries, including Thailand, Japan and Hong Kong.
> 
> Natto is known not only for its unique smell, but its very [slimy texture](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Natt%C5%8D).
> 
> And surströmming is indeed considered not only the smelliest fish, but the smelliest food in the entire world, which can cause some pretty hilarious results, which you can see for yourself [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nJZYieU6Cgw&feature=youtu.be).
> 
> Bucky still thinks Steve brought this on himself. 😆😆😆
> 
> And last, but certainly not least, I have to give a HUGE thanks to my artists Mags. I was sending her sections of this story while I was working on it, and after she read this chapter she sent me the picture of Steve sucking on his socks. It STILL makes me giggle every time I see it, because oh my god, Steve's little fists! HIS LITTLE FISTS!!! They are mighty, and full of fury, and I can't stop laughing whenever I look at them. Thank you my dear! I will love you FOREVER for that pic!


	5. Chapter 5

Three days later, Natasha knocked on his door, and insisted he accompany her, refusing to accept no for an answer.

“Where are we going?” Steve asked, while they waited for the B at the Bryant Park station.

“You’ll see,” was all she would say, tugging on his arm as she led him through the doors of the just arrived train.

She brought him to a small, dimly lit restaurant on the corner of an unremarkable street in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn, where she didn’t even let him look at the menu before she placed an order for him herself in Russian.

“What’s all this?” Steve asked, once the still-steaming, and he had to admit, delicious smelling plates were placed in front of him.

“ _Pelmeni, borscht_ and _blini_ ,” she told him. “Try it and let me know what you think.”

“It’s…good, _really good,_ ” Steve had to admit after he tasted everything. And it was. The dumplings were filled with a warmly spiced meat, both delicate and savory. The beet stew was hearty and rich, the dollops of sour cream it was served with a nice contrast to the chunks of beef that melted in his mouth. And the blini, also served with sour cream, was light and crispy, a nice counterpoint to the other two dishes.

“My personal favorites.” She smiled at him, her real one, that crinkled her eyes at the corners. They were rare, those smiles, and all the more precious because of it. “I don’t have very many good memories of my time in Russia, but our food has always been amazing. Now sit and be quiet. Just think about what you’re tasting, all the flavors, and enjoy it.”

“Why?” Steve asked, once he had practically licked his plates clean, trying to surreptitiously look around to see if there was any more.

“I’ve been going over everything you told us for the past three days.” Somehow she was able to locate their waiter, whose eye she met with a nod, before she turned back to Steve. “About your Grey Space, and how your Sense ended up being taste. And then I started thinking about everything I’ve seen you eat, and realized you don’t have a particularly varied diet, and if I was the one on the other end of your bond, I’d be pretty pissed off about it too.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the way I eat,” Steve frowned.

“Milk Bones and socks, Steve,” she arched an eyebrow at him. And yeah, okay, Steve couldn’t argue with that. “But aside from that, with the exception of a few pieces of cold pizza you steal whenever Clint’s around, or if Pepper’s in a good mood and decides to cook something for the rest of us, you pretty much live on protein shakes and power bars.”

“They get the job done,” Steve grumbled, looking down at his empty plate.

“Maybe, but they don’t taste very good, or like much of anything.” She was studying him carefully, and Steve couldn’t help but feel like a pinned bug beneath her gaze. “Do you even like them?”

“They get the job done,” Steve repeated with a shrug. “I don’t mind the taste. They’re fast and they’re easy, and…”

“And…” she pressed when he didn’t continue.

“And,” Steve swallowed. “I need a lot of calories, ever since the serum. Like, _a lot._ But you guys were making fun of me for it, and I used to get teased a hell of a lot as a kid for my body back then too, and I just…Got tired of it. So I drink the shakes, and I eat the protein bars. They do the job, and this way I don’t have to deal with everybody picking on me whenever I need to eat something.”

She was perfectly still by the time he finished, her smile gone and her eyes wide, before she shook her head and cursed at him in Russian.

“ _And you never said anything?_ ” was what she said when she finally switched back to English. For a few seconds, he actually thought she was going to hit him. “ _All this time,_ and you never thought to tell us to stop?”

“I was tired of it,” he snapped back at her. “And I didn’t want to make a big deal about it.”

“ _We’re your friends_ , Steve,” she hissed. “We all thought you knew, understood that, although after the past couple of days, I can see we were wrong.”

“You are my friends, I know that.” He wanted to make sure she understood, that she knew how much he valued their presence in his life. “And I would do anything, for any one of you, even Tony.”

“And yet, you’ve been keeping lots of secrets from us.”

“You’re one to talk,” he countered. She tilted her head at him, acknowledging the hit, but then blocked and countered with one of her own, just like she always did.

“I have plenty of things I keep to myself, but there are reasons for that. But I’m always honest with you when it really matters, _always_ , especially when it comes to you and Sam.”

“I know. And I appreciate it, Natasha, I really, really do. You have no idea how much.” He wanted to reach for her, to lay his hand on top of hers. But she was holding herself still in that way of hers, that was subtle, so subtle, but Steve had long ago learned meant she was weighing her options and trying to determine her next course of action.

But his words must have been the right ones, because half a heartbeat later, she shook herself and released a small, nearly silent sigh.

“I should have seen it,” she admitted. “It’s my job to notice things like that, and I should have seen it sooner, as well as everything else that said something was going on with you. But you have a way of using your all-American good looks and charm to keep people from realizing what you’re really thinking. It’s a good tactic. It makes people underestimate you until it’s too late.”

“People have been doing that to me my entire life. They always end up regretting it.”

“Fury certainly does. I know he’s still cursing the day they found you in that plane.”

Steve couldn’t help it, he snorted. He didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty about that.

“And we were just teasing you, Steve,” she went on. “We didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just the way we all show our affection for one another, and it helps, especially with the lives we lead. But I _will_ talk to everyone else about it, and get them to stop. You shouldn’t feel ashamed of what you need to do for your body, and everyone’s entitled to eat their meals in peace.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he told her, only to be silenced by another one of her glares. “But thank you, I appreciate it.”

“You’re very welcome,” she said, just as their server placed three more delicious smelling bowls in front of him.

“So why all this?” Steve gestured to the food once the waiter walked away.

“Like I was saying, I was thinking about the fact that you have a soulmate, and how your Sense is taste. And taste is all about food, and the things we like to eat, what brings us comfort, feels familiar and nourishes us,” she began to explain.

“But it’s even more than that. We eat with our mouths. And in a lot of ways, our mouths are the most intimate part of our bodies. We use our mouths not only to eat, but smile and laugh, share secrets,” and here she tilted her head at him, “tell someone we love them, and kiss.”

“Yeah, we do,” Steve told her he loved her, kissed her back for all her kindness, with a smile of his own.

“And the Sense, especially your Sense, taste, is how you’re supposed to court your soulmate, write them a love letter of your own. Your first kiss, before you can kiss them for real. And with all of your protein shakes and power bars, you’ve been writing boring letters, and not giving your soulmate a chance to get to know you, the real you.”

“You seem to know a lot about it.” Steve was back to studying her. “Do you have a Grey Space too?”

“No,” she said with a solemn a shake of her head. “I don’t. And I can’t tell you how grateful I am for that every single day. I can’t even begin to imagine what they would have done to me in the Red Room if I had been born with a mark like that.”

“Then I’m grateful too,” Steve agreed, because she had already suffered enough in her life, probably more than anyone he had ever known. Yet here she was, still standing tall, one of the strongest people he had ever met, being kind to him. “Although it certainly makes life… _interesting._ ”

“I’m sure it does,” she laughed. “But I’m still glad I don’t have one. It means I was free to choose who I love. And I got to choose Clint. It was one of the first choices I ever got to make, and I’ve never once regretted it.”

“I know he doesn’t,” Steve said, so pleased by her words.

“He’s a good man.”

“One of the best.”

“Although it does make me wonder about your soulmate. Because you’re a good man too, one of the best I’ve ever met, so whoever your soulmate is, she’s got to be someone extraordinary.” Her words gave him pause, because it had been an afternoon of sharing and secrets, and there was still one left, a big one, that she didn’t know, and she deserved the truth.

“ _He,_ ” Steve finally confessed, fiddling with his napkin. “I wasn’t born with the Grey Space, but even if I had, it was always going to be a he.”

“Even more secrets,” she said softly. “But that certainly explains why you were never interested in any of the women I tried to set you up with.”

“It’s not that I’m ashamed,” Steve felt compelled to explain. “But if you were, you never said anything about it when I was younger, Natasha. It would have gotten you thrown in jail, if you were lucky. Or killed, if you weren’t. It was something you kept to yourself, for your own safety.”

“Did anyone know?” she asked.

“Peggy did, and Arnie, my best friend growing up. And now…you.” Steve smiled. “But I’m not inexperienced. I like sex, I like it a lot, and I lived in a queer neighborhood before Project Rebirth. And there were plenty of guys who were willing in the Army, if you were careful and knew how to look. So I’ll know how to take care of my soulmate, when we meet… _if_ he wants me to.” Steve made sure to add at the end. He hoped, had a feeling, that his bond wasn’t a platonic one, but he wouldn’t know for sure until they met and talked about it.

“And I didn’t mean to keep it a secret, Natasha, but you _didn’t_ talk about it when I was growing up, even though I know it’s different now,” he went on. “But it’s still a very private thing, being queer and having a soulmate, at least for me.”

“Fair enough,” she conceded. “Still, we should let the others know, if you’re comfortable with that. Especially Pepper. She can help keep Tony in line, not that he’s going to have a problem with it, but he _will_ want to tease you.”

“Ugh.”

“But even more importantly,” Natasha ignored his outburst, “she’ll be able to start putting together something with her PR team, for when it does come out.”

“Do you really think it’ll come to that?” Steve asked.

“It _is_ going to come to that, Steve,” she insisted. “You don’t have to come out as gay if you don’t want to, although I think it would be good if you did, although that’s not my decision to make.”

“I’m not ashamed,” Steve repeated.

“Nor should you be. And we’ll all support you,” she assured him. “You don’t even have to admit you have a soulmate. But people will start to notice if you’re seen everywhere with the same man all the time. And they will talk about it. Pepper’s PR team is the best in the world, and it’s better to have a plan in place ahead of time, so you can control the information somewhat, instead of it controlling you. It’ll be good for him too. Whoever he is, he’s probably not used to the same kind of attention you are.”

This was another reason, one of many, why Steve not only adored, but also respected Natasha. She was cunning, always thinking eight moves ahead, and quick on her feet. She could see details he never would have noticed, and knew how to work things to their best advantage. It was why they always worked so well together. Steve’s strategies, her insights, and Sam’s common-sense approach to things made them an indominable team.

“I’ll talk to Pepper about it.”

“Good.” She smiled at him again, before waving at the plates in front of Steve. “Now finish the rest of your borscht before it gets any colder. Just be quiet, take your time and enjoy it. And think about your soulmate while you do. This will be your first attempt at a real kiss. Do it properly this time.”

Taking all of her words to heart, Steve did.

***

So this was interesting.

After the surströmming, Bucky had been waiting to see what his idiot swolemate would come up with next. But the Sense had gone quiet, and for a couple of days there hadn’t been anything. He hadn’t had a chance to plan a counter-attack either, because he’d gotten a call from one of his clients in Japan, who needed his services as a translator while they renegotiated some last minute details on a contract with a German company they’d been working on for the past six months. So he’d had a busy couple of days. But his client was happy with the outcome, flying back to Tokyo just that morning, and Bucky was looking forward to changing out of his suit and into some sweats, and catching up on some reading.

He was laying on his couch, buried beneath the Furnadoes, feeling a nap coming on, when his shoulder started to itch, and the tingle on his tongue came, letting him know he was about to get a Sense.

“Oh not now,” Bucky groaned, dropping his book to cover his face with his arm, while he waited for the next attack on his taste buds.

Except the attack never came.

Instead what he got was a sense warm and rich, filling and very, very satisfying, a unique, but familiar, combination of beets and beef… _borscht_ , if Bucky was not mistaken, and as the seconds passed and the taste intensified, he knew that he wasn’t. Not only that, but… _pelmeni_ and _blini_ as well. Russian food, as good as any Bucky had ever sampled and come to love during the six months he spent undercover in Omsk, satisfying a craving he hadn’t known he had.

That wasn’t the only thing coming across the still incomplete bridge connecting him to his soulmate. There was also, for the first time, a strong emotional sense. Feelings of satisfaction, hints of regret, a sense of relief, safety, companionship and a complicated love. Wherever he was, his soulmate was eating Russian food with a friend, someone he trusted, and was happy to be there.

Bucky wanted to kiss that someone, whoever they were, because for the first time since Bucky’s Grey Space had started to itch, his soulmate was actually eating a good meal, sharing it, in his way, with Bucky, and Bucky wanted to roll over and purr in contentment.

Bucky prayed it wasn’t a fluke, but based on his experiences so far he knew better than to get his hopes up. Still, good behavior deserved a reward. Positive reinforcement worked with dogs, after all. Let’s see if it worked with cardboard eating, sock-sucking, idiot gym-rats.

***

Steve knew it was coming; he could feel his shoulder starting to itch again, and he knew what that meant.

_Oh God, not now, please not now,_ was all he could think. The entire team was gathered in the Avenger’s conference room, in the middle of the strategy session, and the last thing he needed was to excuse himself so he could run to the bathroom and throw up. He could already feel it too, a burbling building up in his stomach, which was going to make him… _burp_. Just a tiny one, that he was able to hide behind his hand, and _oh_ …hey, that was nice. That was really, really nice. And for the first time, he actually knew what he was tasting.

Someone kicked his ankle, and when he looked up, both Natasha and Sam were staring him with matching cocked eyebrows.

_Lasagna,_ he mouthed at them with a smile, before turning his attention to the displays on the holo-screens Tony was flicking through.

***

Okay, so it looked like old, stupid, probably-never-met-a-dumbbell-he-didn’t-want-to-try-and-lift dogs could learn new tricks. Especially when you rewarded them for good behavior.

Steak was the next meal Bucky got a Sense of two nights later; a nice, juicy T-bone, if he wasn’t mistaken, seared and drizzled in a savory butter and mushroom sauce. Medium rare and well-prepared, if a bit basic, but it was a classic for a reason, especially when accompanied by the garlic mashed potatoes Bucky could also taste.

“Not too bad there, punk,” Bucky had to admit. Bucky could deal with a meat and potatoes kind of guy, at least for the interim. “Nothing wrong with a good steak. But it’s time to introduce you to another classic. One of Pappi’s best. If you have any taste, you’re really going to love it.”

***

“Uh-oh. Cap’s starting to scratch his arm again,” Clint announced to the room at large as they lounged in the common room, eating pizza.

“Collect call to your gay space from your queerma- _Ow, ow, OW!!_ All right, all right, all right, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll shut up now! I promise! Let go of my ear, Pep!”

After his lunch with Natasha, Steve had indeed spoken to Pepper once they returned to the Tower. She had been thrilled for him, and nothing but supportive, agreeing with Natasha, and ensuring him she would have her PR team start developing a plan so it would be ready when, and only when, Steve and his yet unmet soulmate wanted to go public. After that, it only seemed logical to tell the rest of his teammates. They had all been supportive, just like Natasha said they would be, offering their congratulations. Except the Avengers, being the Avengers, could never leave anything well enough alone, and they were all fascinated by the idea of Steve having a Grey Space, and his Sense of taste.

“It’s a shame you won’t let us run any tests on you, Steve. We know so little about how the connection between soulmates work, or why your marks start to change. Supposedly there are increased levels of serotonin and dopamine, that get even higher when two bonded are in each other’s presence, but we still really don’t understand the how or the why of it, and if we could run a few scans- _ow Pepper! That was my foot!_ ”

“Oh, I’m sorry Bruce. Did I accidentally step on your toes with my heel? Maybe we should run some scans on you to see what’s going on. We all know how much the big Green Guy loves those,” Pepper said sweetly.

“Point taken,” Bruce sighed. He was a great guy, Bruce Banner, calm and usually the gentlest out of all of them. But he was another genius among them, and like so many geniuses, he had a tendency to get obsessed in his pursuit of knowledge, and needed to be reminded that not everything warranted a test for further analysis. “Sorry, Steve.”

But thankfully Pepper was there, and she really was the best.

“It’s alright,” Steve assured him, putting down the bowl of popcorn he’d been holding so he could focus more on what was going on inside his mouth.

“What are you tasting?” Pepper asked.

“Shrimp, I think?” Steve smacked his lips and then swallowed. “Yeah, definitely shrimp, with a hint of bacon. But something else too, something creamy, kinda like farina maybe, but cheesy?”

“Shrimp and grits. Nice,” Sam confirmed. Yeah, it was actually. It really, really was.

***

The problem was, while Steve and his soulmate seemed to finally have found a way to peacefully co-exist, as of yet Steve still didn’t have much experience with food. That was changing, little by little every day, especially since his teammates now took great pleasure in sharing with Steve all their own favorite foods with him, so he could then share them with his bonded. Their support and actual happiness for him was amazing, and Steve was grateful for it every single day.

Whoever was on the other end of his string seemed grateful for it too. He had stopped using food as a means of attack, and Steve’s tongue spent a significantly less amount of time feeling like it was on fire.

But because Steve’s knowledge base was limited, while what he usually now tasted through his Sense was delicious, he didn’t necessarily know what it _was_ , a fact he complained about to Sam one afternoon while they walked through Bryant Park on their way back to the Tower.

“Like right now,” Steve said, as they made their way through the crowded midtown park. “I know he’s eating something but I don’t know what it is.”

“What does it taste like?”

“Garlic.” Steve paused in his steps to concentrate. “Something crunchy, lettuce or cabbage, I think. And there are sauces, maybe. One’s kinda tangy, but it helps with the other ‘cos, _oofah,_ ” Steve burped and patted at his chest, “it’s hot.”

“Your soulmate sure does like his spicy food,” Sam laughed.

“You’re telling me.” While nowhere near as intense as his first Sense, most of the meals his soulmate ate had a definite kick to them, and everyone at the Tower had gotten used to seeing him pull a roll of antacids out of his pocket. Tony thought it hilarious; Steve thought Tony was a jerk, who didn’t deserve Pepper.

“And there’s something else there, with the garlic. It’s good, I just don’t know what it is.”

“Sounds like it could be falafel,” Sam suggested. At Steve’s questioning look, he explained, “It’s chickpeas, mashed up with onions and garlic and some other spices. Rolled into balls and deep fried. Pretty common food truck staple.”

“Huh, that might be it.” Now that he was thinking about it, Steve could definitely taste some onion too, popping two antacids in his mouth.

“And the thing about spicy food is, you have to know how to eat it,” Sam went on.

“What do you mean?”

“Yeah, it’s got a definite kick, and can burn, but spicy food, _good spicy food_ , is about so much more than that. Once you get past the heat, if you focus on the rest, you’ll usually find some really intense, but really interesting flavors. It’s complex, with a lot of layers, and every culture does it in a different way. It’s usually there to cut through any fat, or compensate for something else that might be blander. When done right, it’s some of the best damned food on the planet.”

“Whoever he is, he seems to agree with you.” The burn was starting to fade, as were all the other flavors, replaced by something that tasted to Steve like a lemon soda.

“So definitely the smarter one out of the two of you. I like him better already.”

“Shuddup,” Steve grumbled, scratching at his arm. And Sam noticed, of course he did; he was as observant as Natasha in his own way.

“You been able to figure out anything else about him?”

“Not too much really,” Steve shook his head. “He likes coffee, and he’s a smoker.”

“Ugh,” Sam grunted.

“It’s not too bad. He usually just has one in the morning and one late at night, before bed I’m guessing. And I don’t mind it, not really. Almost everyone smoked when I was growing up, and we all did it in the Army. Helped you pass the time. I kinda miss the smell of it sometimes, actually.” Steve shrugged. “Other than that, he’s got a pretty varied palate, and I never know what to expect. Sometimes for breakfast he eats a bagel and cream cheese, and other times I could swear it’s fish and rice, and something else I don’t know, ‘cos I’ve never tasted it before.”

“Asian, maybe?”

“Dunno, could be I suppose. But other times he eats things that taste very similar to what your mom makes whenever we go to her house for dinner. Chicken and pork dishes, catfish once I think. And I’ve definitely tasted cornbread, although the kind he eats has hot peppers of some kind in it.”

“Jalapenos probably. Maybe he’s Southern, or grew up in the South at least,” Sam offered. “Or maybe he’s mixed.”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Steve said, still scratching at his shoulder. “We’re in the same time zone at least. He eats breakfast, lunch and dinner usually around the same times I do, if we’re not on a mission.”

“Anything he doesn’t like to eat?” was Sam’s next question.

“Raisins. He seems to fucking hate those for some reason.” Steve had learned that the hard way. He’d wondered why the response to the rugelach he’d eaten, given to him by Maria, had been another attack of _oh my god, I want to rip my face off_ heat. The rugelach had been delicious, flaky, sweet and crunchy, so he’d had no idea what there was to complain about. He’d figured it out a week later, whilst in the middle of eating a bowl of Raisin Bran for breakfast, he’d been bombarded with a sour so sour, his toenails wanted to crawl off into a corner and die. _‘Right, no more raisins,’_ he’d sworn to the both of them after that, and there hadn’t been another incident since.

“Well, we’ve all got our thing. Mine’s tapioca. That shit is nasty, with those gloppy little balls. Who the hell decided that was a good idea?” Sam’s grumbling was a background murmur, because Steve had just noticed, sitting on a park bench about twenty feet away one of the most gorgeous men he had ever seen. He had pale skin, long dark hair pulled into a high ponytail, and even from a distance, Steve could tell he had a pair of the most striking pale blue eyes. He looked relaxed and comfortable, and Steve couldn’t help but notice the breadth and width of what had to be strong shoulders as he rolled them beneath the suit jacket he was wearing. Stunning, the man was _absolutely stunning_ , with his sharp jawline and plump pink lips that were sipping from a can of soda.

Steve wanted to go over there and lick him.

“Really, Cap?” Sam asked, forcing Steve to turn back to him. “You got a soulmate, and you’re checking random strangers out? That’s probably why your Grey Space is itching you like that. Your soulmate, wherever he is, is probably not pleased.”

“I may have a soulmate, but that doesn’t mean I’m dead. He’s _hot_ , and I’m allowed to look.” When Steve glanced back, his opinion hadn’t changed in the slightest. The guy had stood, and he was tall, almost as tall as Steve, which was rare, with long, lean muscular legs. He was also no longer alone; he had been joined by a nearly as tall, and just as striking, black man, and a somewhat shorter, but slightly stockier, Asian fellow, who was also pretty nice to look at. They were all smiling at each other, so they must have been friends, as they turned and started walking away. Steve had to admit, the view was just as nice from the back as it had been from the front.

Then Steve’s phone, along with Sam’s, suddenly went off, a call for the Avengers to assemble, and Steve forgot about striking blue eyes, long dark hair and a nice ass as he and Sam started running back to the Tower.

***

Two days later, when Steve returned from their mission to Siberia, successful and with no injuries, everything changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With all that's going on right now, I just wanted to take a moment to say that I hope wherever you are in the world, you and all of your loved ones are alright. Be warm, be well, be safe. XOXOXOXOXO
> 
> (Also, I might, JUST MIGHT, post an extra chapter this weekend, if I can polish it up in time. 😊 We'll see.)


	6. Chapter 6

They all had their trauma, war wounds they were recovering from, things that set them off.

For Steve, it was the cold. He could handle tromping through the snow, and dealing with sub-artic temperatures. In the moment, in the middle of a mission, he could push all of that aside, focus on the tasks at hand, and get it done.

But after…After, there was always a price.

_Always._

For Steve, it was nightmares. Horrible, horrible nightmares, that weren’t particularly gruesome or bloody, but flooded him with an inescapable sense of fear and helplessness that left him shaking in his bed.

Of lying down, and knowing he was never going to get up again. Feeling the cold water turn into ice, crawling over his skin and down his throat, into his chest, his bones, his veins. Frozen, in a crystal casket, just like Snow White, but not asleep. Being aware of everything around him, his eyes and ears wide open while the ice creaked and cracked, and the rest of the world forgot about him. Unable to move, to call for help, to scream, while time slowly bled by, his heart somehow still ticking along with every second, minute, hour, day, year, decade that passed, and being unable to do anything about it. No one was going to come for him, and he was going to be trapped there forever, in his tomb of cold, black ice.

Whenever he finally woke, all he could do was gather every one of his blankets around him and curl up into a little ball, huddling on the floor, shivering and shaking while he waited for it to pass. It could take hours before he came back to himself, and not feel like his throat was being sliced open by icicles.

But not for long. Because for the first time in nearly seventy years, he wasn’t alone. Someone else knew he was there, knew he was afraid, and was looking for him, searching desperately, until their hand reached out, grasped his, and refused to let him go.

***

Something was wrong.

Something was very, very, _very_ wrong.

Bucky knew it the instant his eyes flew open in the middle of the night, shivering from the cold. It didn’t make any sense though; his sleep had been dreamless and deep, no nightmares, and the Furnadoes were cuddled around him as they usually were whenever he was in bed. The fact they were all there, calmly sleeping meant there were no intruders in the house, nothing he needed to be wary of. Bucky had never been a fan of winter, hating the cold, but it was the end of May, one of the warmest ones New York City had experienced in recent memory, so there was no reason for him to be shivering like he was. It didn’t make any damned sense.

That’s when he realized that this, whatever _this_ was, wasn’t coming from him. It was coming from his soulmate.

It wasn’t unheard of; soulmates were bound in ways even science still didn’t understand, and in extreme conditions, even a pair who hadn’t met could feel what the other was feeling. They were the other half of you, their life tied to yours, and weren’t only there for you to love, but to be a source of strength, of comfort, when they needed help. It was why when one member of a bonded pair died, the other was put on suicide watch. Not only had they lost their other half, but had probably felt whatever pain their soulmate had in their last moments. A curse, as much as a blessing, and few were strong enough to survive it happening.

But this wasn’t pain, not when Bucky was able to think around the feeling, at least not physical pain. This felt more like…a nightmare, and Bucky knew a hell of a lot about nightmares, and how devastating their after effects could be.

Right now his soulmate was terrified, freezing, wherever he was, and begging for someone to come for him.

_“It’s alright, sweetheart, it’s alright,”_ Bucky said as he stumbled from the bed, stripping out of his t-shirt and boxer shorts on his way to his bathroom. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you. I’m here, and it’s gonna be alright, I promise you sweetheart.” Bucky turned on his shower, as hot as he could stand it, and stepped under the steady stream, letting the heat seep into his flesh, hoping his soulmate could feel it, feel him, and know Bucky had heard him, was answering his call. “I’m here sweetheart, I’m here. I’ve got this, let it go. I can handle it, I promise you. Give it to me, I’m strong enough for both of us. You’re safe, and I’ve got you, and I’m not letting you go.”

It felt like an eternity, but couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes, before the shivering that wasn’t coming from him finally stopped, and something felt like it was releasing, a deep, shuddering breath. Bucky had never been so thankful for the huge, hot water tank he and the boys had installed as he was that night.

“There you go, that’s it. It’s all right now, you can let it go.” Another shiver, this time not from cold, instead feeling like a teeny, tiny mewl running up his spine. “ _Ssh, ssh, ssh._ Don’t worry, it’s alright. I’m not done yet. Just keep it open, just like this, and you’ll see. I’ll make it better, I promise you sweetheart, I promise you.”

With those last words, Bucky turned off the hot water, wrapped himself in his fluffiest towel, and made his way down to his kitchen.

***

_Hot chocolate._

His soulmate was feeding him hot chocolate. Thick, rich, creamy, hot chocolate, the scent of it in his nose, the taste of it on his tongue and the warmth of it nestling in his belly. Mugful after mugful after mugful of it, the good stuff, better than any he had ever tasted, because it was from his soulmate. His soulmate, who had somehow known he was having a nightmare, what he’d been feeling, and had come for him with a cupful of kindness in his hands.

The hot shower helped, once he realized what he was feeling, and he had taken a leap of faith and placed himself into his soulmate’s care. But the hot chocolate, _the hot chocolate,_ was working miracles, relaxing muscles that had been clenched, and filling not only his stomach, but every one of his veins with a warmth stronger than the sun’s. They were thrumming, resonating together, because Steve had called, and from across the bridge, his bond had answered.

It wouldn’t last, because this had been an extreme situation. And they probably wouldn’t feel this again until they were finally face to face. Steve didn’t want to let it go, but his soulmate had done his job, with generosity, with kindness, with grace, and Steve could feel his own eyelids starting to droop. He wasn’t afraid this time, because he was warm now, and he knew the nightmare was over; his soulmate had chased it away. Yet still, he didn’t want to let him go. At least not without giving something back.

So he focused, as much as he could on that thin red string, and thought _Thank you_ , hoping his soulmate heard.

When a soft voice whispered back, _You’re welcome_ , he knew he had, and that was what allowed Steve to finally go back to sleep.

***

“Who are you?” Steve asked the next morning, staring through his windows out into the streets below. The sun was slowly rising, bathing the city and its inhabitants in gold, one of them more than likely his soulmate. “Where are you? I need to find you. Please. I’m here, and I need to know who you are.”

This time, there was no answer. The Fates had been kind last night, but they were only willing to go so far. Steve was going to have to do the rest of the work himself. That was alright. Steve was more determined now than he had ever been, and he was going to find his soulmate, and bring him home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little something extra this week as a belated birthday gift to one of our favorite boys from Brooklyn. With all that's going on in the world right now, I hope it brought a smile to your face. 
> 
> **hugs**


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER NOTES - POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNING**

_In this chapter, there is a reference to suicide ideation. It's brief and not graphic, but it is there, and I wanted to give everyone reading this story the chance to protect themselves, especially with what's going on in the world. If you want to avoid it, just go scroll to the first section break, marked by the ***. Everything after that is trigger free._

It was easier said than done.

How did he find someone when the only thing he knew for sure about them was what they were putting into their mouth, and even then not all the time? Steve was pretty certain his soulmate was a man, but that wouldn’t be verified until they actually met. From the times and types of food he was able to recognize, his instincts were telling him his to-be-beloved was somewhere on the East Coast, and more than likely in New York with the way his Grey Space was nearly constantly itching these days, but his assumptions were still based on guesswork. In all actuality, his soulmate could be anywhere in the world; Toronto, Paris, Tokyo, Rio de Janeiro, Sydney. It was frustrating, to say the least.

Still, humans had always been clever, coming up with unique ways to help their soulmates find them since the dawn of time, and that hadn’t changed since Steve had first gone into the ice. Some of them were pretty interesting, and while still rare, there were entire industries dedicated to helping those born with a Grey Space find their other half, _(for a price, of course)_ , like the company that designed a one-of-a-kind perfume or cologne for those whose Sense was smell, or private investigators who specialized in helping bondmates find each other. And with the internet and social media playing such a huge role in everyone’s lives these days, of course people had turned to that. There were forums where you could list your Sense and the location of your mark, or apps that used algorithms to help break down the clues. Potentially useful, Steve supposed, but only if your soulmate was on the same forum, or had downloaded that particular app. It was still as chancy as a game of poker, where the house, the Fates, made sure the odds were mostly stacked against you, and you had to be not only lucky, but clever, to win the jackpot. None of this helped Steve, and he found himself turning to the only person he knew could answer some of his questions, if he were willing.

“How did you and Riley do it? If you’re willing to tell me?” Steve asked gently, on a quiet night post mission, when it was just him and Sam relaxing in Sam’s living room over beers. Sam might refuse to talk about it, and it was his right to. To lose a soulmate was supposedly one of the most painful things you could experience. Steve hadn’t even met his yet, and the thought of that emptiness, the grey on his shoulder turning into an endless black, terrified him. Sam must have endured an excruciating amount of pain, was probably still experiencing it every day, and yet somehow he survived. Not only that, but he was a good man, kind and generous, honestly happy for his friend. Steve had never known anyone kinder or braver, and he was so grateful their paths crossed and they’d become friends.

“Luck, mostly,” Sam said after a small sip of his beer. “It was pretty quick for us, just a couple of months. I was in my last semester of college, driving home to see my family, when my car broke down. I called for a tow-truck, and when we got to the garage, there he was. His father owned the place, was the one to pick me up actually, and he was standing there, waiting for me, the most beautiful man or woman I’d ever seen in my life, and I just knew. I was in his arms, kissing him, before he had a chance to tell me his name.” Sam was smiling at the memory.

“What did his father do?”

“Dunno. Don’t remember. I couldn’t have cared less, but he didn’t charge me for the tow, or fixing my car.” Sam rolled his head along the back of the couch so he was facing Steve. “It’s gonna hit you like that. Everything else disappearing, except for that one, single person. The world could be on fire, and you wouldn’t notice.”

“What was your Sense?” Steve carefully pressed.

“Feeling,” was Sam’s answer. Steve blinked; that was a rare one, as rare as taste, if not more so. “Yeah,” he grinned at the look on Steve’s face, “it made for some pretty interesting late nights before we met, lemme tell you.” Sam paused to take another sip from his beer. “But mostly, for weeks I’d been feeling wind on my face. Riley’d been skydiving ever since he turned eighteen, loved the rush of it.”

“What’d he get from you?” Steve was fascinated, as fascinated as he’d been when he used to sit on his mother’s lap and listen to her tell him all about his father’s whistling.

“He said he felt it in his stomach. I’ve always loved roller coasters, the more twists, turns, loops and high drops, the better. Told me he could feel all the swooping, and knew we’d be great together. We were a perfect match, adrenaline junkies, the both of us. It was why we decided to join the Air Force, and why we were the first in line for the Falcon project when it was offered. We loved to feel the rush of air on our faces.” Sam stopped to swallow, and closed his eyes, turning his face away from Steve.

“We were so stupid.” His voice was a whisper when he finally continued, one of the most mournful sounds Steve ever heard. “But we were young, had each other and doing what we loved. We knew there were risks, but we were damned good at our jobs, and thought we were invincible.”

“Sam, you don’t –“ Steve said, his own voice thick and tight.

“I felt it when he was hit,” Sam cut him off. He was still talking to Steve, but Steve could tell he was far, far away, once again in a place no one deserved to be, especially not Sam. “The Sense never goes away, even after you’ve met. In fact, some of the others start to flare up too, once you’ve connected. So I felt it, when he was hit. The burning, his confusion, the pain he was in. I knew instantly what had happened, and I went after him, of course I fucking did. But I was too late, and he slipped through my hands.”

Steve wanted to be beg him to stop, to not say another word, because he knew what was coming next. But Sam was being brave, just like his mother had always been brave, in ways Steve hadn’t been able to understand until just that second. He could do no less than them. Love, between a mother and son, and a brother-in-arms, demanded no less.

“And then I felt it when he died.”

“ _Jesus fucking Christ_ , Sam, I am _so_ sorry.” Steve reached out and pulled Sam into his arms. He was a super-soldier, the only one in the world, his body made of rippling muscle. He couldn’t undo what had happened to Sam and Riley, but he was more than strong enough to help carry Sam through this, shoulder his burdens for him, at least for the moment, so Sam would know he wasn’t alone.

“I blacked out,” Sam went on, through tears and shivers Steve felt as though they were his own. “Which was a mercy. I woke up a week later, in an isolation ward, both our families around me, on suicide watch. They terminated the Falcon program not too long after that.”

“How did you survive it?”

“Don’t know. Still don’t.” Steve felt Sam shrug. “My family, and his, I guess. And a hell of a lot of counseling. But for a long time, _a long time_ after that, I know I wished I had died too.”

“I’m so glad you didn’t, Sam, you have no idea,” Steve swore, tightening his arms and pressing a kiss to Sam’s forehead.

“I am too, now,” Sam finally admitted. “You can survive it Steve. I pray to god you never have to, but you can. And Riley, he would’ve kicked my ass if I hadn’t.”

“I wish I could have met him. He sounds amazing.”

“He was. All the best parts of me, and I still miss him, every single day. But…” Sam pulled himself out of Steve’s embrace, to wipe at his face and take another swig from his beer. “He would have wanted me to be happy, and keep doing what we both loved. When you and Nat showed up at my door, asking for help, I was finally able to put the wings back on for the first time in years. And why I keep doing it. He loved to fly, and whenever I’m up in the air, I know that wherever he is, he’s feeling the wind on my face, and I can hear him whooping with me.

“You’re so lucky Steve, and you have no idea how your life’s going to change. _No idea._ ” Sam’s eyes were a deep, dark brown, doe-like in his handsome face, usually filled with laughter and mirth, which Steve now understood was very hard earned. But they were sharp and intent now, as focused as Sam always was whenever they were on a mission together as he locked them with Steve’s own. “Don’t ever forget that, and don’t you _ever_ dare take it for granted. I will kick your ass myself, Captain America or not, if you do.”

“I won’t, I promise you that I won’t,” Steve swore.

“Good,” Sam nodded.

“And I won’t talk about it in front of you anymore, if you don’t want me to. If it hurts too much to hear about,” Steve tried to be delicate.

“Nah man, you don’t have to do that.” Sam waved him off. “I’ll admit, I’m a bit jealous, but happy for you too. And your guy, whoever he is, sounds a like a complete asshole.” Steve couldn’t help his snort of agreement. “A perfect match for you.”

“ _Hey!_ ”

“Riley would have adored him.” Sam smiled for the first time that night.

“What was he like? Riley? If you don’t mind telling me?” Steve asked, and they ended up spending the rest of the night talking about Sam’s soulmate, the man who had been the other half of Sam’s heart, and who helped shape him into the person he was today. It didn’t give Steve any answers in regards to how to proceed with his own search, but it was definitely worth it.

***

Yet Steve still wasn’t any closer to finding out anything else about his own soulmate, or how to locate him, and it was driving him insane. He was a master strategist after all, so there had to be something he could do; he just hadn’t figured it out yet. He kept turning the problem over and over in his head, trying to see it from every possible angle, using what he knew about the guy, which wasn’t much, to try and develop a strategy.

Whoever he was, he liked food. Much of it spicy, still too spicy in Steve’s opinion as he crunched on a few more antacids, but not all of it. He seemed to enjoy seafood; Steve had been tasting a lot of it on his tongue through the Sense, but not only that. There were plenty of other things he seemed to eat and find great satisfaction in as well. In fact, if Steve was asked to assign a single word to his soulmate’s diet, the one he would select would be _variety_. He didn’t seem to really prefer one type of cuisine over any other, but found pleasure in all of them.

Which, again, didn’t really give Steve any answers. Lots of people loved food in this day and age, more so than ever before, with the way international travel had improved since the forties, and recipes for just about any dish Steve could imagine easy enough to find on the internet. Aside from cats and porn ( _and people had always loved their porn, no matter what day and age they were living in_ ), Nazis ( _motherfuckers_ ) and goddamned antivaxxers, ( _Steve, having grown up in a time when polio or the measles could have killed you, really hated those assholes_ ), food was one of the most popular topics on the internet. There were bloggers and vloggers, YouTubers, who seemed to have devoted their entire lives to posting about food. After travel, what people liked to eat was definitely one of the most popular topics.

And…that might work, Steve found himself thinking after a few seconds. In fact, the more he considered it, the more the idea seemed to make sense. Everyone in the entire world seemed to have an online account of some sort from what he’d observed, and if Steve’s soulmate loved food, and Steve knew that he did, it was likely he was out there somewhere either following one of the more popular ones or sharing his own eating adventures.

It was a long shot, but it was better than anything else Steve had come up with so far. He had official accounts registered in his name on all the popular platforms, verified, according to Pepper, so no one else could pretend to be him and use that to their advantage. He hadn’t used them much, because he tended to get pissed off whenever he did, _(again, Nazis. Ugh! Fucking seriously?)_ , but in spite of Tony’s endless teasing about Steve being from the Ice Age, he did know how to use them. And he’d have to be careful. He couldn’t just post _Hey, if you have a Grey Space on your left arm, like to eat weird spicy shit, then you’re probably my soulmate, so give me a call at Stark Tower_ somewhere _,_ because according to both Pepper and Maria, even before he told anyone about his Grey Space, he’d been receiving plenty of emails and phone calls from people swearing they were his soulmate, that JARVIS always blocked. Only those closest to Steve knew about his situation, and the general public certainly didn’t. But the world had always been filled with those obsessed with their icons and celebrities, determined to find a way to meet them. And Steve had never been comfortable, especially since his USO days, with the attention turned his way ever since Steve Rogers stepped into Erskine’s chamber and Captain America stepped out. He had just been a scrawny kid from Brooklyn, no longer so scrawny, who believed in doing the right thing. But it did give him a platform, one people tended to pay attention to, and for the first time he was thankful for that advantage. He’d have to be subtle about it, careful not to give too much away, but with enough clues so that the right person, his soulmate, would get his message and know Steve had received the ones he’d been sending, and was looking for him.

It would be tricky, but Steve had always loved a challenge. And if this worked like Steve hoped it would, then the victory would be the best one Steve ever achieved.

So after some careful consideration, weighing the pros and cons against which app seemed to be the most popular, Steve picked up his Starkphone, and for the first time since he stepped into this new world, opened Twitter and decided to tweet something.

***

Nothing happened at first. Well, not nothing. When he woke up the following morning, and checked his Twitter feed, he saw he had gained over five thousand new followers, and nearly three hundred private messages in his inbox. In less than nine hours Steve’s simple post of _Got a taste of a some really good pork chops and baked potato last night, it was delicious,_ which was what his Sense told him soulmate had for dinner, had garnered quite a bit of attention. More than he expected, in all honesty. As he skimmed through all the comments, retweets and hashtags that had been added since he decided on his first calling card, Steve realized it wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d originally assumed, and there was no way he’d be able to keep track of all the responses he was going to get.

That’s when he decided to ask JARVIS for help. But only JARVIS. His friends were excited for him, and Steve knew they’d be more than happy to help. But they were also a bunch of busy bodies, who loved sticking their noses where they didn’t belong. Steve was grateful for all their support and advice, he truly was, but it was a private matter, a deeply personal one to Steve, and he didn’t want them meddling more than they already had. Steve also knew that while the Fates were willing to help, they really wanted him to do most of the work himself; that was the coin you had to pay for the gift you had been given. When it came down to it, it really was up to Steve to build this bridge.

But JARVIS could be discrete, and in seconds process, filter and identify any positive hits instead of the hours it would take Steve to do it on his own. And he seemed to be delighted to be the one Steve asked to help him in his search.

_‘Certainly Captain,’_ he said, sounding more enthusiastic than Steve could remember hearing him once he asked. _‘It is a unique request, but I will be more than happy to assist you. Given your circumstances, I have become much more fascinated with the human experience of a soulmate than previously. This will be an interesting challenge for the both of us, and a worthy use of my resources. And while I understand your need for discretion, if you will allow to make a few suggestions of my own, I believe we can increase the chances of you establishing contact with your soulmate by at least 23.895 percent.’_

“Thanks JARVIS. You really are the best thing Tony’s ever created,” Steve smiled up at the ceiling.

_‘Thank you for saying so, Captain. Miss Potts agrees with you.’_

“She’s a smart lady.”

_‘Indeed. Now, if you will authorize me access to all of your accounts, I will begin to review the data, and compile a list of any possible matches.’_

“Authorization confirmed, by Captain Steven Grant Rogers.” Steve couldn’t help but scratch at his shoulder. “He’s out there somewhere. Let’s see if he’s been looking for me too.”

***

He definitely got a reaction. Not the one he was looking ( _hoping_ ) for, but it was definitely a reaction. In less than three weeks, _@SGRogers1918_ had somehow managed to accrue over two-point-five million followers. That was…a lot. Even more than Tony, who thus far had the highest number of subscribers out of all the Avengers, a fact he was unabashedly proud of, and constantly liked to brag about. That Tony hadn’t caught on yet, and initiated a counter-attack or flame war, puzzled Steve to the point where he wondered aloud about it one night, after he finished gulping down a glass of cold milk to help counter the burning from his soulmate’s latest meal.

_‘That would be because of me, Captain,’_ JARVIS responded. _‘Given the nature of your search, and your desire for privacy, I have blocked Sir’s access to your feeds. As far as he knows, you never use your accounts anyway, and since you are already dealing with heartburn, I determined that you would not need the…agita, I believe is how you would describe it.’_

“Thanks, JARVIS,” Steve said for what must have been the thousandth time, before popping three antacids into his mouth. “Any likely matches in the last twelve hours?”

_‘Unfortunately not, Captain. While you have gained four-hundred-and-seventy-three new followers in the last hour, there is nothing that would fit the parameters we established. But it has only been three weeks, and my understanding is that these things take time.’_

That was true. But Steve had never been the most patient of people, and he was as desperate to find his soulmate as he’d ever been. But none of the people who followed or messaged him came back with _Yeah, that super spicy hot chicken you had last night, that was me_. Mostly it was people either agreeing or disagreeing with his eating choices, calling him a foodie, or sending him recipes of their own. And there were still the assholes, plenty of those; some called the foods he described disgusting, while others questioned the validity of who he was. Some tried to engage him in useless political debates and stand up for “real” American values, while others, the worst of the bunch, went so far as to send him pictures of swastikas or deny that the Holocaust ever happened. _Fucking, covered in shit, assholes_ , that JARVIS took it upon himself to block from Steve’s feed after he’d thrown his phone against the wall. 

_‘Your replacement should arrive within fifteen minutes, Captain.’_

“Sorry.” It wasn’t JARVIS’ fault there were shitheads out there.

_‘No apologies necessary. And in this case, we are in complete agreement. @KKKJacksonKKK will also find he no longer has access to any of his accounts, and a huge donation from his savings has been made in his name to UNICEF.’_

“You’re the best, JARVIS.”

_‘I try, Captain.’_

JARVIS really was the best, and those types of comments never showed up on Steve’s phone again. Not only that, but the AI came up with a few really good ideas of his own.

_‘If I may Captain, might I suggest you tweet not only what you are tasting, but what you have been eating as well. It is my understanding that the Sense goes both ways. If your soulmate is one of your followers, this will increase the likelihood of him realizing what he has been tasting, and that you are searching for him.’_

It made sense, so Steve did it. He still had to be careful, being specific while remaining oblique enough not to give too much away; he didn’t need swarms of people showing up when he and either Sam, Natasha or someone else went out to grab something to eat in the hopes of getting a sight of him. But tweeting things like, _Had a couple of PB &Js, with a strawberry milkshake for lunch today,_ or _Was in DC yesterday to see an old friend and we shared a bowl of lime JELLO_ , were both unique and safe enough.

But still, there hadn’t been any hits, or at least not the type Steve was hoping for. Steve was frustrated, to say the least. Their shared Sense was wide open; Steve was sure he was tasting almost everything his soulmate was putting in his mouth these days. The past week had actually been a pretty challenging one; while the guy didn’t seem to be deliberately attacking his taste buds anymore, there had been a lot of spicy foods over the last seven days, and while Steve tried to follow Sam’s advice and reach for the flavors underneath, it was still some hot shit. JARIVS had been kind enough to have six large containers of antacids delivered to his apartment, but even they could only help so much. Steve was seriously starting to consider eating a whole box of raisins in retaliation, when suddenly, about three and a half weeks since Steve made his first post, there was a response. Not a hit or private message, but a definite tug on the line he had cast out into the world, a nibble, a pull, that said his soulmate had not only heard and was paying attention, but also knew exactly who Steve was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to let everyone know that the ABSOLUTELY BRILLIANT Mags sent me an amazing drawing for chapter three, which I've back added. It is absolutely adorable (with an angry Bucky), and I would highly recommend you scroll back to take a look. =)
> 
> Also, once again wishing you all nothing but the best. It's a scary world out there right now, but just remember, social-distancing or not, you aren't alone. **hugshugshugs**


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER NOTES**

_As a warning, there is some racist and homophobic language in this chapter. It's brief, but I wanted to let you know, so as always you can make your own choices. Please take care of yourselves and stay safe._

Bucky loved it whenever his entire family came together to celebrate something. They ate together all the time, and now that Dum Dum, Monty and Jackie were almost always there too, that made it even better. But when the Moritas and Joneses congregated for either a holiday, anniversary or any other occasion, the special dishes came out, and the food was even more spectacular.

And today, they were all at the Jones’ house to celebrate Gabe’s thirtieth birthday, and feast on their Pappi’s truly beloved jerk chicken. Even Cynthia, Gabe’s baby sister, had come up from Baltimore, where she was in the last year of her medical residency at John Hopkins, to join in the festivities. He had never been as close to her as he was to Gabe, but she was the same age as Becca, and Bucky knew they had viewed each other as sisters growing up. The day Bucky finally came home, she had been waiting for him along with the rest of his family, and upon seeing him, burst into tears and wrapped him in a hug so tight Bucky hadn’t been able to breathe. She was his closest link to his little sister, and Bucky would have done anything for her.

But just like his sister, she was and had always been a brat. Not only that, she was as picky an eater as Rebecca had been, turning her nose up at anything spicier than ketchup, and constantly criticizing Bucky, Jimmie and Gabe’s food choices.

“I can’t believe you’re eating that,” she snarked at him, poking at her own plate of collard greens and black-eyed peas, which were delicious, yes, but lacked the sinful heat of Pappi’s jerk chicken. Bucky was on his third plate. “It’s disgusting.”

“Wimp,” Jimmie teased her. He was on his second.

“Real men eat spicy food,” Gabe added; he was on his fourth.

“Real men get gastroenteritis,” she rebuked. “Seriously, I don’t know how any of you can stand it.”

“Oh leave them alone. They’re enjoying it,” Vera scolded, while pouring Cynthia a second glass of her sweet iced-tea, another Jones family specialty. “And no one’s forcing you to eat it, even if Pappi spent all day in the kitchen making it special for Gabe.”

“I know no one’s forcing me to eat it, but I can still smell it from here, and it’s making my nose itch.”

“You poor thing,” Vera rolled her eyes.

“Must be all that bland hospital cafeteria food you’ve been living on,” Ichika added. She was nibbling on a drumstick.

“It’s too spicy,” Cynthia continued. “And I’m not the only who thinks so. Even Captain America doesn’t like spicy food.”

“Oh, did he tell you that himself, when you had dinner with him last week?” Gabe snorted around a mouthful of chicken.

“No, he tweeted it.”

“Captain America’s on Twitter?” The tone in Jimmie’s voice easily let everyone know how much he believed that. “I didn’t even think he knew what the internet was, never mind Twitter.”

“Can you imagine what he must be posting about? Hashtag _this is my favorite American flag, because look, it matches my shield,_ ” Bucky snickered.

“Hashtag _remember, Captain America thinks it cool to follow the rules, so you should too,_ ” Jackie chimed in

“Hashtag, y _ou kids and your damned cell phones and internets. Back in my day, we had to walk forty miles up a hill, barefoot in the snow, just to send a letter. Both ways! Now get offa my lawn!_ ” Dum Dum added.

“Only you can prevent forest fires. Only you,” was Monty’s contribution.

“That’s Smokey the Bear,” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Oh.”

“No difference, really,” Gabe shrugged.

“True enough,” Bucky agreed.

“Is that what he’s really talking about in all those educational videos he made?” Yua asked in Japanese. “I never noticed. I was always too busy looking at his tits.”

“Okaasan!”

“What?” Yua shrugged. “They’re very nice tits. I want to squish them.”

“They’re not bad,” Bucky had to admit, while in the background Jimmie started to chant “ _Nopenopenopenopenope._ ”

“Back in the day, mine were even better,” Pappi informed them.

“You wish, you old fart,” Yua snapped. Bucky couldn’t stop his smile; he _adored_ his family, and they really were the best.

“ _Anyway,_ ” Cynthia heaved a greatly put-upon sigh, obviously frustrated by the turn the conversation had taken. “Yes, Captain America _does_ have a Twitter account. He’s had one for a while, but he never really tweeted anything until about three weeks ago. But now he’s using it all the time, usually talking about food.”

“Oh great. Just what social media needs. _Another_ foodie,” Bucky grumbled.

“It’s kinda cute, actually,” Cynthia spoke over him. “He talks about what he eats, what he does and doesn’t like. I think the rest of the Avengers have been taking him to different places, making him try new things.” She picked her phone up from the table, swiped it on, and began to scroll.

“What have I told you about using your phone at the dinner table?” Vera warned her.

“I know, Ma,” Cynthia shrugged. “But I’m trying to prove my point.”

“Which is?” Vera demanded to know.

“That I’m not the only one who thinks spicy food is nasty. Captain America does too. See, _look._ ” She shoved her phone in Bucky’s face, forcing him to take it from her. 

“So, he’s got no taste? So what? We all knew that already from that old uniform he used to wear,” Gabe argued with his sister.

“The new one is so much better,” Yua agreed.

“The poor thing grew up during the Depression, likely with nothing more than potatoes and cabbage to eat. Of course he’s having a hard time adjusting to all the different food now. He’s probably still not used to it,” Ichika suggested.

Bucky was getting ready to respond, to pontificate on how they all lived in one of the greatest culinary cities in the world, and he should be taking advantage of it, but the words died on his tongue. Cynthia wasn’t lying; from what he could see Captain America didn’t like spicy food. But there was something else there, something that was starting to make a horrible sort of sense, as Bucky scrolled through the backlog of tweets from _@SGRogers1918_ , taking note of dates and times and what was being said, and realizing…realizing…

And no, no, that couldn’t be. It just… _couldn’t._ Because if he was right, that would mean…that would mean…No. No. _No._

Suddenly, for the first time in recent memory, Bucky couldn’t eat another bite.

***

“There you are,” Ichika said in Japanese, announcing her presence four nights later, stepping onto Bucky’s back deck while he sat with Hunter and Hope at his feet, smoking a cigarette, staring up at the full moon.

“Oh hey, Okaasan.” Bucky blinked at her. “Is everything alright? Do you need something?”

“No, everything’s fine,” she said, settling in the deckchair next to his. “But I could ask the same about you. You’ve been quiet lately, we’ve all noticed it. And then you snuck out tonight after dinner, without even giving Yua a goodbye kiss, which you never do. We’re starting to worry, so I thought I’d check up on you.”

“You beat Vera at the coin toss?”

“Silly boy. You know better than that by now,” she smiled at him. “It was jan-ken-pon.”

“Of course,” Bucky returned her smile, before he took another drag from his cigarette and went back to looking at the stars. “And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset anyone. It’s not a downward spiral, so you don’t have to worry about that.” They had a right to be concerned; there had been plenty of those over the past two years. But Bucky had been doing well, reached a state of mental equilibrium that meant he had a hell of a lot more good days than bad ones. He supposed they were always going to worry about him though, considering what they’d all been through. “Just, got a lot on my mind these days, and I’m trying to work my way through it.”

“Anything you want to talk about?” she asked.

How to even start? After Gabe’s birthday dinner, when he’d first gotten his inkling about who his soulmate might really be, Bucky had gone home to see if what he suspected was the truth. It didn’t take him long to confirm his fears. He booted up his laptop, opened Twitter, and read through all of the entries _@SGRogers1918_ had posted over the past three and a half weeks. Bucky didn’t have an account of his own; all the foodies on internet really did piss him off, posting their perfect pictures of all the new foods they were about sample, instead of just eating and enjoying it instead _(nevermind the Nazis)_. But you didn’t need an account to read through someone else’s, as long as their posts were public. As he’d scanned through all the previous entries, he found a very direct and undeniable correlation to not only what he had been eating, but to what his Sense of taste had been telling him as well. Vague enough, but too specific to be anything but a perfect match.

Just like Cynthia said, the good old Captain seemed to not be a fan of spicy food. In just the past seven days, he had commented on it three times; Monday, when after a long day of work, Bucky had accompanied his South Korean client to their favorite restaurant in Korea-Town, where Mr. Beom-soo Kim and his personal secretary had laughed in delight when Bucky ordered his jjambbong extra spicy. Yeah it was hot, to the point where Bucky’s cheeks were flushed and his forehead beaded with sweat, but the burn had been _so good_. Fifteen minutes after they had said their goodbyes in the street, Captain Rogers had tweeted _Goddamned spicy fish, and needing to drink an entire gallon of milk afterwards._ On Wednesday, Gabe’s actual birthday, at his request all of the Howlies had gone out for Indian food. While no match for Bucky’s tolerance, Gabe enjoyed spicy food himself, and Indian food was one of his favorites. He’d ordered chicken tikka masala, while Bucky indulged himself with the vindaloo pork. The tweet that had come out right when they would have been leaving the restaurant, read _Why would anyone do that to pork? It’s so hot you can’t even taste the meat._ And by the time Bucky had gotten home, after feasting on Pappi’s jerk chicken, there was a new entry that only said _I just love raisins as a palate cleanser, don’t you?_ A clearly stated, obvious warning, that would only make sense to someone like Bucky, who absolutely loathed raisins.

Not only that, but there was also all the other tweets, in perfect synch with what Bucky had been getting through his own Sense. The peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, along with a milkshake, Bucky had tasted for lunch two weeks ago, and the lime JELLO from last Wednesday. Needing proof, either that he was imagining things or making unmerited assumptions, Bucky tested his theory, giving his teeth a thorough brushing before drinking a glass of orange juice. A new tweet had popped up almost immediately.

_Brushing your teeth and then drinking OJ? Still as disgusting as it’s ever been._

As if all of that weren’t proof enough, there was also Bucky’s Grey Space. While in the shower the previous night, he decided to give it a closer inspection, scrutinizing it like he hadn’t since he was a teen and would spend hours poking and prodding at it, hoping by doing that it would give its secrets away. It was still a mostly grey area on his shoulder, that had been itching like crazy lately. But as the water washed the soap away, it was obvious it was starting to change. And if he squinted just so, he could make out a series of pale lines that when connected would form the five points of a star, a white star, just like the one on the most famous shield in the world.

There was no way he could deny it then. Captain America, Steven Grant Rogers, the national icon, the hero somehow miraculously brought back from the dead, was the person at the other end of Bucky’s Red String of Fate, the other half of his heart, his soulmate.

And wasn’t that just great? As if Bucky didn’t have enough shit he already had to deal with. The Fates must have either hated him, or were laughing their asses off. There had never been any record of Captain America being born with a Grey Space; Bucky checked once he’d come to his realization. Bucky didn’t want to be tied to some celebrity; yeah, the guy did good work, but he also garnered a lot of public attention, and Bucky truly valued his privacy, especially after everything he’d lived through.

Then there was the fact, the undeniably fact, that Bucky was a gay man. He might not be loud, but he was out and proud about it, had been all his life. His family, the rest of the Howlies, had always supported him, and he’d never had a reason to hide who he truly was. He was lucky that way, he knew. The only time he’d ever gotten any shit about it had been once, in high school, when David, an asshole from their baseball team had called out _“Oh look, it’s the fucking faggot,”_ while two of his teammates stood behind him, sneering. Bucky hadn’t even had a chance to turn around, before Jimmie was tackling him to the ground, with a snarled, _“That’s my brother you’re talking about. You shut your fucking mouth, you asshole!”_ Bucky had been about to jump in, not to defend himself, but because the three of them always had each other’s backs. But Gabe had grabbed his shoulder, shaking his head, saying, _“Let him, the jerkoff deserves it.”_

Or at least he did until one of David’s cronies had shot back with, _“Oh look, now the Jap’s gotten involved. Does he fuck you too? Is that why you’re so upset? Is the ni-”_ and then all bets were off.

Afterwards, once the fight had been broken up by three teachers and the assistant principal, Bucky and his brothers sat in the principal’s office, alongside their mothers, while Mr. Scarpaci informed them that all three of them were going to face a three-day suspension as a result of their actions.

“So let me get this straight, because I want to make sure I’m hearing you right,” Bucky’s mom cut him off, her voice colder than Bucky had ever heard it. “My son, who is a straight A student and taken nothing but AP classes for the last two semesters, was minding his own business, walking to class with Jimmie and Gabe, who are so smart they won this year’s state science fair, when this other boy, David, called him a nasty word, while his friends laughed about it. When Jimmie, who he’s known since he was three years old, tried to defend him, this _other_ boy made a racist slur and was about to make another one, which of course, Gabe and Bucky weren’t going to let stand, because all three of us have worked very hard to teach our sons how to always do the right thing. None of them have been in any trouble before, or gotten into any fights, and are the brightest boys in the entire school. And you’re telling me that they’re going to be the ones who get suspended, while David and his cronies get off scot free, when _they_ were the ones who were bullied, because what? My son is gay? And Jimmie is Japanese? _That’s_ the call you’re going to make? The example you want to set for the school? Am I understanding you correctly?”

“Yes, but -“

“You better think very carefully about the next words that come out of your mouth, or the next call _I_ make will be to my lawyer, and then the school board, followed by every local news outlet I can,” Winifred cut him off.

“Superintendent Jenkins goes to my church. I already have her number, I’ll make that call instead,” Vera said.

“I know some good lawyers of my own,” Ichika, who worked as a paralegal, added. “I’m sure I can get them to take on the case pro bono.”

Needless to say, Bucky, Jimmie and Gabe weren’t suspended, while David and his two assholes ended up being expelled. And the only comment after that had come from Pappi, who smiled when he heard the story, and chuckled, “Three jocks, and you still ended up kicking their asses. Atta boys!”

Bucky never needed to come to terms with his sexuality, or lift his chin in pride instead of lowering it in fear. Because never, _not once_ , in his entire life had he been made to feel ashamed of who he was or doubt he was loved by his family, his brothers, or his friends. He was lucky, unbelievably so, he knew. But that sense of complete acceptance had been woven with love and understanding so deeply into his sense of self, the very fabric of his being, he was never going to deny it.

And now he was supposedly bound to Captain America, the poster boy the Religious Right always used as their perfect example of “American Ideals” whenever they wanted to make a point, who everyone knew had a doomed love affair with Peggy Carter. Bucky refused, he _absolutely refused_ to go into the closet, when he’d never been in one before, no matter who the hell his soulmate was.

It was a clusterfuck, an absolute clusterfuck, and Bucky was once again regretting he’d ever been born with that damned Grey Space on his left shoulder.

It had been four days of this, these thoughts and worries circling round and round in his head. As a result, he hadn’t been as talkative as he usually was. He’d been too busy internally cursing, while he worked as hard as he could on shutting down the link, tying off the thread, forcing the connection to go cold.

But his family noticed. Of course they would, and they were reaching out, with all the love and concern he’d been raised with, because that’s who the Moritas, the Joneses and the Barnes were, and what they did for family.

“I wouldn’t even know where to start,” Bucky said to Ichika in the now.

“Why not at the beginning?” she asked. “I find that’s usually the best place.” He supposed it was; he probably did need to talk about it to someone and there was no better choice than her.

So he lit another cigarette, took a deep breath, and spoke the words he had as of yet not said aloud.

“I know who my soulmate is.”

“You’ve met them already?” she asked, her eyes alight. “That’s wonderful Bucky. Who is it, and why haven’t you introduced us yet?”

“No, I haven’t met them yet,” Bucky shook his head. “But I’ve finally figured it out, and I know who he is.”

“Then why do you look so upset? This is wonderful news, isn’t it? Now you can finally go and meet him in person.”

“You’d think so, but it’s complicated.”

“I’ve heard it can be between soulmates at first, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth it,” she said, leaning forward in her chair. “Who is it, Bucky? Do we know him?”

“You do. Or at least you know of him.” Bucky rubbed at his temple with his fingers, taking another deep breath, before he lifted his eyes, and said, “It’s Captain America, Okaasan.”

“What?”

“My soulmate is Steve Rogers, Captain goddamned America.”

She sat there quietly, running and rerunning his words over and over again in her head, before she reached out, took his hand in hers, and with a gentle squeeze said, “I think you need to start even further back, because this doesn’t sound like the beginning to me, and you need to tell me everything, before I can try to help you.”

Bucky did. He spent the next hour leading her down the path he had followed, the rabbit hole Cynthia’s innocent comment pulled him into, the first hint that itched his brain the same way his Grey Space now nearly always itched. Thinking it couldn’t be, was just probably a coincidence or a lark, and being proved wrong. The tweets that in their coded way matched not only what Buck had been eating, but what he also experienced through his Sense, even the test he’d done. Then, because she had always been one of the easiest women to talk to, one of the women he loved most in the world, his mother, who had always been one of his mothers, even when he still called her Auntie, he confessed to her all the rest of his thoughts, worries and fears.

She sat and she listened, occasionally tapping the back of his hand with her cool fingertips when there was something she wanted more clarification on, but mostly she was quiet, paying attention to his words, absorbing all he said before drawing any conclusions of her own. Ichika had always been the quietest out of the three of them, but that was one of the reasons why she was so easy to talk to, and he was glad it was her, and not Vera or even the woman who had brought him into the world who was there for him that night. They would have supported him, given him all the encouragement and love he needed to work through this; but what he needed, what he really needed, was someone to just sit and listen to him, and with her silence, Ichika gave him that.

Until nearly an hour, and three more cigarettes later, he told her everything there was to tell, sat back, and waited to hear what she would say. She took her time with it, as was typical of her, before she leaned back with a quiet sigh, staring up at the moon.

“I think,” was what she started with when she finally did speak, “that you’ve been drawing a lot of conclusions about someone you’ve never met. And I think, no I _know_ , that we’ve all raised you better than that.”

“I’m just looking at the facts, trying to make sure I’m seeing the situation from every possible angle, so I can assess and plan for all the variables. You need to know what you’re up against in order to be prepared for when things go wrong, because there’s always the chance that they will. It was _my job_ to do that, and I was good at it. It’s how I kept Jimmie, Gabe and the rest of the boys alive whenever we were on mission in a comms blackout, and how I was able to make sure they all came home.”

She couldn’t deny that, Bucky knew she couldn’t; the fact Jimmie still sat at her table every night for dinner was all the proof either of them needed. And she didn’t, humming quietly in agreement instead.

“You were excellent at it, and I don’t know if you’ll ever fully understand how grateful me and Vera are for that every single day,” she confirmed. “But the Army, the things you’ve seen and were forced to do and endure, changed you, you can’t deny that either, especially when you came home and you found out that Winnie and George had passed on. And I don’t blame you, no one blames you. How could we? We’re all different from who we were nine years ago. But…”

“But?”

“You need to remember you aren’t in the Army any more, and this isn’t a mission. This is _your soulmate_ and you’ve been waiting for him ever since the day you first understood what that patch of grey skin on your arm really meant.”

“Yeah, but –“

She lifted her hand to cut him off. That was the thing about Ichika; she always listened, always let you have your say without interruption. But in exchange, she demanded the same when it was her turn to speak. So Bucky paused mid-word and gave her the same courtesy she had given him.

“Listening to you just now, I can see that you’ve looked at it from every possible angle, and yes, a lot of the things you’re concerned about do have merit. But you’ve failed to take one thing into consideration, probably the most important thing, and that’s the man himself. Not Captain America, but just Steven. The man, not the myth, who we really don’t know all that much about.”

“He’s Captain America, what more needs to be said?”

“Plenty, I’m sure,” she said, turning her dark eyes towards him. “And him being Captain America already tells us a lot. That he’s always fought for what he’s believed in, that he’s an honest and decent man, full of courage, who believes everyone deserves to be treated equally. All amazing qualities, that there isn’t enough of in the world. And in itself that should be more than enough, because you share a lot of those same qualities. But it still doesn’t tell you if he’s a slob, or hates getting up early in the mornings. Does he like to sleep with the windows open or closed, or what his favorite color is. Does he prefer comedy or horror movies, who his favorite singer is. And it doesn’t tell you if he’s lonely.”

Her words gave Bucky pause, because in all of his ruminations, he had never stopped to consider that.

“Why would you say that? He’s got plenty of friends. Whenever anyone gets a picture of him, he’s always with somebody.” Bucky had even seen that for himself, not too long ago. He’d been sitting in Bryant Park, finishing his falafel wrap, when he’d caught a glimpse of the man himself out of the corner of his eye. He’d been accompanied by his friend, and wearing a baseball cap and shades, in an obvious attempt conceal to his identity, but Bucky had always had a sharp eye, and made him in an instant, along with the Falcon. They seemed comfortable together, laughing and teasing, and Bucky could have sworn, for just an instant, the man had been staring at him. But he’d been waiting for Jimmie and Gabe, who had made him too, because they were almost as good as he was, and his Grey Space had been itching and… _Oh Jesus, he really was a fucking idiot_.

“He may have people around him, people he even considers friends, but that doesn’t mean he’s not still lonely,” Ichika’s quiet voice snapped him back into the present. “And you know, I think I might understand some of what he’s been going through.”

“What do you mean?” Bucky asked. She smiled at him, but it was a soft smile, heavy, knowing and filled with compassion. While directed at him, Bucky knew that all of it, all that was held in the curve of her lips and the look in her eyes was not for him, but for this stranger she had never met.

“I came to this country for the first time when I was thirteen years old,” she began. “Times were difficult in Japan, and we were struggling, so Okaasan decided to pack up our lives and move to a new country, where there would be more opportunities for us. And I knew about America, everyone knows about America, so I thought it would be fine, I was excited about it. But it was still difficult, very, very difficult. I had to learn a new language, a new culture, and eat things I never had before. Things were similar enough to be recognizable, but different enough in ways I couldn’t begin to understand that I always felt like I was making mistakes, even though I was trying my best. And the things that had brought me comfort in the past, without me even realizing it, were gone. It was like starting from scratch, and I remember thinking it shouldn’t be this hard, but it was. It took me a long time to finally feel comfortable here, and I struggled with a lot of the decisions I had to make, especially after Jimmie was born. I wanted him to remember he was Japanese, where he had come from, and be proud of it. So we spoke mostly Japanese in the house, and I made sure to feed him all the food I grew up eating. But I also had to remember he was going to grow up more American than I ever would be. That’s just who he was. So there was going to be football games and cheeseburgers too, while still dealing with racism. And he grew up into a fine man, and I am so, so proud of him. But it was still a struggle.”

“I didn’t know that, any of that,” Bucky admitted, suddenly ashamed of his privilege and ignorance.

“Why would you?” she shrugged. “I never said anything about it, except to Vera and your mother. And I worked hard to make very sure Jimmie never saw any of that either.”

“You’ve always been a great mom.”

“Thank you,” she tilted her head. “I’ve tried my best. But…when I think about it, I think Steve Rogers must be going through a lot of the same things I did. He wakes up one day, and everyone he’s ever known and loved is gone and everything has changed. Similar enough to what he remembers so that it should make sense, but it doesn’t. Fashions have changed, along with the way we talk to each other. Women in positions of power, and friends from all over the world you can talk to everyday because we have Facebook and Skype. Not necessarily bad, but very, very different. And he can’t even go back to his favorite restaurant, or his mother’s kitchen, and eat the things that were familiar to him, that always brought him comfort. I can only imagine how hard it’s been for him.

“So it makes sense to me, that out of everyone on this planet, the Fates decided to tie his Red String to yours. You have a very big family, that loves to come together and eat, and we always have room for one more at our table. We’ll feed him all our favorite foods until he’s ready to burst, and learn what he likes, so we can cook it for him ourselves. Just like you, we’ve been waiting for him to join us, and we’ll give him back the family he lost.” She reached out and ran her fingers through his hair, pushing it behind his ear. Bucky had always loved to have his hair stroked, and her fingers were soft and gentle, just like they’d always been, Vera’s had been, his mother’s had been, when he’d been a child and needed someone to make his hurts go away.

“And just like him, you’re a good, kind man. Very intelligent, strong, brave, and loyal to the ones you love,” she went on, with another one of her smiles, but it was once again sad. “And you also know what it’s like to lose a mother too soon. You have me and Vera, and you always will. But you lost Winnie, as well as George, so you know what that kind of loss is like. And I think that’s something else he’s never been able to talk about with anyone.”

There were wrinkles at the corner of her eyes, laugh lines permanently etched around her mouth, and grey streaks in her nearly black hair that she kept styled in a neatly cut page-boy. But she had always been, and still was, one of the most beautiful women in Bucky’s world. And he loved her with all his heart, just like he did Vera, and he forever would his mother. Because she was an amazing woman, who helped shape him into the man he had become, and he would never forget that.

But she wasn’t done with him, not yet.

“I’m not even surprised your soulmate is Steve Rogers. In fact, now that I think about it, it makes a lot of sense,” she said.

“What?” Bucky asked, pulling away from her so he could stare at her face.

“You never liked the cold, Bucky, and even as a child you were always shivering. Winnie used to have to bundle you up in three sweaters, two scarfs, and warmest down coat she could find before you would even agree to go out and play in the snow. You barely ever got sick when you were a kid, but you hated the winter. Or at least you did, until you came back two years ago. I noticed that, so did Vera, but we just thought that spending as much time as you have in deserts made you finally appreciate snow.” Bucky blinked, once more stunned by her words, because she was right; he _had_ always hated the winter, _always_ , could remember begging his dad to turn the heat up because he was cold, shivering when everybody else was perfectly warm.

“And…”

“And?” _Oh god, there was more?_

“There was one night, when you couldn’t have been more than five-years-old. It was the middle of winter, and there had been a blizzard, so bad the schools had been closed for two days. Winnie had put both you and Rebecca to bed, and didn’t think much of it. Except something woke her up in the middle of the night, a feeling in her stomach, she said, a mother’s instinct, and unless you’re a mother you can’t deny that we get them sometimes, and when she got up to check on you, you were gone, missing from your bed. She looked all over the house, the bathrooms, the basement, but couldn’t find you. She and your father panicked, and George was just about to call the police, when Winnie noticed the kitchen door was open. She ran out into the backyard, and there you were, still in your pajamas, digging in the snow. She scooped you up, brought you back inside and bundled you in blankets to get you warmed up.

“The very next day she took you to your pediatrician as soon as they opened, because that had never happened before. You were fine by then, so Dr. Klami told her not to worry about it, that it was probably just a dream, and that sometimes children sleepwalk. Just keep an eye on you, and bring you back if it ever happened again.

“It never did, even though I know she watched you like a hawk for months afterwards. But you had always been an easy baby, and slept through the night with no problems. But still, I’ll never forget what she said when she told me and Vera about it two days later.”

“What did she say?” Bucky whispered, terrified of her answer.

“She said, when she asked you _‘What were you doing out there, baby? Why were you digging in the snow in the middle of the night?’_ you told her, _‘I have to find him. He’s cold, and he’s alone, and I have to find him. I have to find Stevie, mommy, he’s waiting for me.’_ ”

“I don’t remember that.” Bucky would never know how he got the words past his lips. Because they were as cold, as numb, as his hands must have been, as his soulmate, _Stevie_ , must have been. Then there was the dream, the nightmare from a few weeks ago, that hadn’t been his, but had still woken him from a dead sleep, shivering in the cold. And _holy shit_ , it suddenly made a lot more sense.

“Why would you? You _were_ only five years old after all, and it never happened again. But I never forgot it, and you can ask Vera if you don’t believe me.”

“No, no I do.” He had to; how could he not when all the evidence was staring him straight in the face.

“So you see Bucky, you’ve always been bound to him, and some part of you must have known it too. Your connection must be very strong, if you could feel the pull of him when you were a child and he was still asleep. He must have been reaching for you even then, and now it’s obvious he’s trying to find you. Don’t let your fears keep you from what was always meant to be.”

“I won’t,” Bucky promised.

“Good.” She squeezed his wrist, rose from her seat and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Do you feel better now?”

“Yes.” Although better was probably not quite the right word for everything he was feeling at that moment.

“Good,” she said again. “Then I’m going to go and let you enjoy the rest of your evening. I won’t say anything about what we talked about to anyone else, but you should talk to Vera. She’s been worried about you too. And Jimmie and Gabe, along with the rest of the boys. Because if we’ve noticed something’s been upsetting you, you know they have as well. And they’re even bigger worriers than we are.”

“I will.”

“Good,” she said for the third time, turning to make her way back home, before pausing to look at him from over her shoulder.

“When you’re ready, bring him home and introduce him to all of us. We’ll make a feast like you’ve never seen, with so much spicy food he’ll never be hungry or cold again.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Bucky said, and for the first time, it was starting to feel like it might be the truth.

“I know you are,” she flashed him a grin. “But we’re going to have to keep an eye on O bachan, because I don’t think she was joking about squishing his tits.”

***

Bucky did talk to Vera, the very next morning. Like Ichika, once she thought about it, she didn’t seem surprised. She just hugged him instead, pressing a warm kiss to his temple, and said, “Well Baby Boy, you never did like to be bored. And I think if there’s anyone out there interesting enough to keep you on your toes, it’ll be Captain America.”

That evening, he also told Jimmie and Gabe, along with the rest of the Howlies. They were less accepting than Ichika and Vera had been, but that was to be expected. It was their job to pick apart and find any faults in Bucky’s logic, because that’s how their team worked best, and Bucky had always encouraged it.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jimmie squinted at him, while reaching into his pocket for his mobile to verify what Bucky told them himself. Around the room, everyone else was doing the same.

“It could be a coincidence,” Gabe said, reaching for Bucky’s laptop instead of his own phone. “It’s unlikely, but it could be.”

“Once, maybe. Twice even, I’ll give you that,” Bucky shrugged. “But three times is a pattern. And it’s happened a hell of a lot more than three times.” Bucky could even prove it; knowing they’d be doubtful, he’d come prepared for this, and now that he knew, it’d be easy enough to do. He reached across his table for the small carton of coconut water he’d purchased from the corner bodega when he’d taken both Hunter and Hope for their after-dinner walk, popped the tab, cleared his mind, and carefully drank several slow, deliberate sips. It took less than a minute before their phones, all of them, beeped with an incoming alert.

“What does it say?” Bucky asked, a sense of pleasure reaching back to him from across the Sense.

“ _’You know, I always knew what coconuts were, but I never actually saw one with my own eyes until not too long ago. And the water is good. Not as sweet as I thought it would be, but still good. I like it,’_ ” Monty read from his phone.

“ _Holy shit, Sarge!_ Holy fucking shit! Your soulmate is Captain America! What the fuck?” Jackie practically shrieked.

“Yeah, just my luck, right?” Bucky snorted.

“So what are you going to do about it?” Gabe asked, always one to keep his focus on the task at hand. “It’s obvious he’s been trying to contact you, but I don’t think you can just show up at Stark Tower with a sign that says _Hey, I’m Captain America’s soulmate, can you please let me in?_ without being arrested, if you’re not shot on sight first. He must have people showing up there, doing that all the time.”

“You could just send him a private message on Twitter,” Dum Dum suggested.

“Nah,” Bucky shook his head. “I’m not quite ready for that, not just yet. And his inbox is probably already being bombarded by hundreds, if not thousands of messages a day. And Captain America or not, I still want to proceed with caution.”

“So what’s the plan then Sarge, ‘cos I know you got one. What do you need from us?” Gabe followed Bucky’s line of thinking.

“First, Jimmie,” Bucky began, turning to him. “I want you to get me a burner phone, and set me up with a dummy email account, so generic and untraceable even Stark’s tech won’t be able to locate the source, and then get me on Twitter. Nothing too obvious, because I don’t want to give anything away. The last thing I fucking need is the rest of the Avengers showing up in our neighborhood to bring me in because they want to make sure I’m good enough for their dear old Cap.”

“ _Pfft,_ ” Jimmie snorted at him. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? I can get you hooked up in less than five minutes.”

“I know you can, Jimmie, you’ve always been the fucking best at what you do,” Bucky acknowledged.

“And the rest of us?” Monty asked.

“I want you guys to find out everything you can, not only about Steven Grant Rogers, but the rest of his team too. The Widow dumped all those files onto the web not too long ago. Comb through all of it, as well as anything else you can find and see if there’s anything in there about any of them that would be useful to know. I fucking hate surprises and I want to know exactly what and who we’re dealing with.”

“On it,” Dum Dum confirmed.

“Recon on the Tower?” Gabe asked.

“Nah,” Bucky shook his head. “Too risky. His teammates have to know what he’s been doing, and they’ll be keeping an eye out. They’ll notice anything out of the ordinary, and Stark also has that supercomputer of his. We wanna be careful.”

“And what are you going to be doing in the interim?” Monty asked.

“I’m going to be doing some research of my own,” Bucky shrugged. “It’s obvious he’s been sending me messages, and it was clever of him. I’m gonna start sending back a few of my own, letting him know he’s been heard. But I don’t want to make it too easy on him. Let’s see how good he really is.”

This was going to be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The art in this chapter was once again drawn by the amazing Mags, and it's my absolute favorite piece in the entire story, an exact image of how I pictured that scene. She is such a talented artist, and I hope you enjoyed it as well.
> 
> Once again, I wanted to thank everyone who has taken a chance on this story, whether you've commented, kudoed or not. I hope it's been making you smile, especially with what's going on in the world at the moment. And just know that I would share my toilet paper with ALL of you if I could. 😘


	9. Chapter 9

The first hint Steve had that let him know his messages had been heard was a subtle one, and a few months ago, he might have ignored it, or thought it was something besides what it really was. But that was months ago, and he’d learned since then, as his weekly delivery of antacids gave evidence to, to pay attention to the slightest changes, the smallest details.

He’d actually been worried for a few days; after his tweet about somebody brushing their teeth and then drinking orange juice, _(and what the hell had his soulmate been thinking? Because seriously…Blech!),_ his Sense had gone strangely quiet and still. There had been nothing on his tongue, no flavors recognizable or unfamiliar at strange hours of the day, and even worse, a complete lack of the feeling Steve hadn’t known he’d grown used to, of someone out there, almost but not quite in reach, an invisible presence walking by his side. He started to worry, because by all accounts, once two soulmates started to Sense each other, the feelings only grew stronger, until they finally met, and from what he read, there were no words that could describe what it felt like the first time you got to hold your soulmate in your arms. He feared something was wrong, or maybe his soulmate had gotten sick, obsessing about it to the point where everyone else started to notice and kept asking him if he was alright.

But then the tug came, nearly four days after his last one, and it was both a relief and a treat. Steve had never opened Twitter as fast as he did when he tasted that first sip of coconut water on his lips.

The following day, a few hours after breakfast, he got a second one. A very unique flavor, one he instantly recognized, but never thought he’d ever taste again. Flowers and perfume, distinct, that had been a favorite of his when he was younger. Choward’s Violet Candy, popular when he was a kid, and difficult to find anywhere outside of New York, but he had always loved them, and whenever he’d had a few extra pennies in his pocket, he’d buy a couple of packs and share them with Arnie. He wasn’t aware they still made them, or how much he’d missed them, and that was when he began to suspect that his soulmate, whoever he was, knew exactly who he was.

Still feeling the crunch of the lavender colored candies beneath his teeth, which made him laugh because that was exactly how he’d always eaten them, never having the patience to allow them to melt on his tongue, he posted a picture of the violets the candy were named after, along with the text _These have always been one of my favorites,_ and then asked JARVIS to search for any reference, however oblique, to the candy. There was nothing, but that was all right. It was still something, when for four days there had been nothing, and Steve would take what he could get.

That night, not too long after he’d finished dinner, a pesto pasta salad Sam had made and offered to share with both him and Natasha, it came again, the tingling, the itching that let him know his soulmate was about to enjoy his own meal. And once more, after just a moment, Steve knew exactly what he was eating. Another taste he could never forget; warm and rich, with a hint of onion, celery and carrots. Even better, after the sinful taste of the broth melted all over his tongue, there came something else. Soft and chewy, and always served steaming hot. A cherished memory, beloved, of one of many dinners he’d shared with Arnie at his family’s kitchen table.

Steve needed a few moments, to just sit there and rub his belly, while the memories, hundreds of them, all happy ones, washed over him, before he picked up his phone and tweeted _I’ve always loved chicken matza ball soup. It makes me think of home._

The next afternoon, just as he was wrapping up a training session with Sam and Clint, a new Sense came to him, announcing itself with a burp. Just a tiny one that made him giggle, before the fizzy sensation danced across his taste buds. Another one he knew that brought back childhood memories of running in the streets with Arnie.

He waited until he was back in his suite of rooms, smacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth to make it last as long as possible, enjoying the well-remembered taste of celery soda.

But then he paused, because this was the third Sense in just two days, and each time what he’d gotten was not only familiar, but not always easy to find, that carried with them tradition, history, _his_ history, and after his first public positive identification, they started coming faster than ever before. And it dawned on him that whoever it was the Fates had linked him to, they not only knew who he was, but were reading his messages and responding to them.

They had to be a way to confirm his growing suspicion, and it took him less than three seconds to think of one, before he swiped on his mobile and began to type.

_I’ve always loved Dr. Brown’s Cel-Ray soda. I didn’t even know they still made it. But as good as it is, my favorite has always been the Black Cherry flavor. Is that one still available?_

That night, lying in bed, Steve scrolled through all the retweets and responses his “innocent” comment had generated. There were plenty of replies telling him it was still available, along with several links informing him where he could buy it. The assholes were still there too, like _@YourFreakFreddy_ , who posted _I’ll give you all the celery soda you want, while you lick it off my dick_ -

“JARVIS?”

_‘Already on it, Captain. Mr. YourFreakFreddy will soon find himself blocked, with no further access to his accounts, as well as having to replace his laptop, since he’s been infected with a self-replicating virus.’_

“Thanks.”

\- but by and large, Steve was coming to enjoy the time he spent online. Most people, _most_ , were kind when they replied, sharing recipes or favorite dishes of their own, or letting him know where he could find things they thought he would enjoy. Even if he hadn’t yet gotten the response he was hoping for, it was still a relaxing way to spend some time. Until he was just about to log off and turn in for the night, and he burped again, his mouth suddenly flooded with the sweet and welcome taste of Dr. Brown’s Black Cherry soda.

In that instant, Steve wouldn’t have been able to sleep if his life depended on it, sitting bolt upright in his bed, staring at his phone in shock.

_You know,_ his thoughts raced. _You’re out there somewhere, and you’ve been reading my messages and you know. Where the hell are you, and why haven’t you tried to contact me in person yet? You know I’m here and I’m looking for you. Come on already, just send me a message and I’ll come to you. Please. Whoever you are, I need to find you._

“We’ve got a hit JARVIS!” he said aloud.

_‘Really, Captain?’_

“I’m tasting black cherry soda right now. I need you to double and triple check every single message, retweet and new follower from the past six hours. Hell, the past three days. He’s paying attention, whoever he is, and I’m going to find him.”

***

And so began a new game of cat and mouse, Steve sending his messages out into the nebulous world of the internet, and almost always, usually within a few hours, getting a response.

It quickly became clear however, that Steve was the mouse in this game, and the cat was stalking him silently, but very deliberately from the shadows, as of yet unseen. Steve was being played with, teased, and he was in a constant state of delight and frustration. Nearly each and every one of his posts was answered, but never with a private message or retweet that said _Hey, it’s me, and I’m the one who just ate that pastrami on rye that had you salivating._

Steve couldn’t understand it; they were soulmates, meant to come together, be the other’s everything. So why had there been nothing more than the Senses he was getting each and every day? The guy was smart, cunning, making certain Steve knew he was out there and aware of what was happening between them. They were dancing together, except his soulmate was the one who was leading, and all Steve could do was stumble in his wake.

It was three weeks of Steve posting things like _I love apple pie, I really do. But if given a choice, I’m always going to choose cherry myself,_ and then sitting back and waiting. It didn’t take long, it never did, and soon Steve was drowning in a sweet and tart sea of lush, ripe cherries, and a flaky, buttery crust, unlike any he had experienced before.

_Does anybody know where I can get some good brisket?_ led to tons of recommendations and invites to grandma’s houses, which were appreciated, but not needed. Because the next night, right before dinner, he got to taste his brisket, and it was as good as he could remember it being.

JARVIS had been working triple time, trying to find any clues, but his soulmate appeared to be lurking, and certainly not making his presence known in any way the two of them could identify. Steve wanted to scream, and he was seriously considering going out and knocking on every single door in New York City, asking the residents if they were the one, and probably would have, but Sam and Natasha were both back to scrutinizing everything he put in his mouth as well as his reactions to it, and were insistent he allow them to take him out for dinner on his birthday which was just two days away. He couldn’t deny them that; they had been nothing but supportive while all this was going on, even if they once again did not know the full extent of it. But they were his friends, and he did enjoy spending time with them. And it would be fun to try some new and hopefully delicious foods.

So a night well spent, that allowed him to ignore his current situation, at least for a little while. But one, however kind and meant with love, that was soon forgotten.

Because that night, when he returned to the Tower well past midnight, after going to a place that served nothing but macaroni and cheese, followed by drinks and pool, his soulmate reached out, reached for him, and gave Steve one of the best birthday gifts he ever received.

***

Bucky finished his last morsel of brisket, leaned back in his chair with a sigh and picked up his phone, anticipating the good old Captain’s response. It didn’t take long; in less than two minutes his Twitter feed lit up with a new notification from @SGRogers1918:

_Finally got to taste some brisket, and it’s as good as I remember it being. But I’ve always thought it tasted better when eaten together with the people you know and love best in the world. Wouldn’t you agree?_

Well, from all accounts Steve Rogers had never been stupid, and he was definitely aware Bucky had initiated contact, returning Bucky’s messages with ones of his own. In fact, from all indications, he was trying harder than ever, desperate almost, to lay down the final brick of their bridge.

Yet Bucky was still hesitant, in spite of his conversation with Ichika, to take that last step no matter how constantly his Grey Space tingled and itched, and sometimes almost felt as if it was sighing, on his shoulder. Because in spite of what the Fates or anyone else may have thought about it, being Steve Rogers’, aka Captain America’s, soulmate was a big deal that was going to come with a lot of attention and variables Bucky had to be sure about before he was willing to take such a huge leap of faith. He had his family to consider, the boys, his house, his job, even the Furnadoes; it was a good life and Bucky was proud of all he had managed to build. It would mean changes, and yes Bucky could be adaptable, but he wasn’t sure if all the ones entailed with him revealing himself would be good ones.

Bucky knew he was being paranoid, and he didn’t need his therapist reminding him how that was a direct result of all he had been through and survived. But it was what it was, and while Bucky had his family around him and plenty of techniques and breathing exercises to help him through his bad days, he was proceeding with caution until he had a better lay of the overall land, so if _(when)_ the shit hit the fan, he’d be better prepared to deal with the outcome. So he’d fallen back on the stealth that had served him well in his military career.

As of yet, _Operation Feed America (or Fuck America, as the boys renamed it)_ , was going well. True to his word, Jimmie had hooked him up with a burner phone with an untraceable number and an unidentifiable location in less than ten minutes. In three days, the rest of the Howlies had provided him with concise and precisely annotated dossiers not only on Steve, but the rest of the Avengers as well, with information about them he was certain they didn’t know about themselves. Natasha Romanov, formerly Natalia Alianova, with her Red Room training, was definitely a concern, but from all indications she was a highly respected member of the Avengers, and one of the ones, along with Sam Wilson, aka Falcon, Steve was closest to. He wondered at the dynamics of their friendship and how their presence in Steve’s life would affect his own. Unpredictable, but that was to be expected, and Bucky would hold onto his advantages for as long as he could.

While his boys had been out there gathering information, Bucky hadn’t just sat back on his heels, and done some recon of his own, including a daytrip to DC to pay a visit to the Smithsonian and the Captain America exhibit. There really wasn’t much there that either he or the general public hadn’t already known, although there were some pretty interesting photos, along with the film of Peggy Carter talking about Steve. Instead what he found himself drawn to were the displays on _The Invaders_ , Captain America’s first team, an interesting, brave and multi-talented group of men who reminded Bucky of the Howlies, especially Arnie Roth, whose skill with a rifle Bucky always admired. It was Arnie Bucky ended up focusing on, Steve’s childhood friend, because if there were going to be any _“ins”_ in regards to who Steve Rogers truly was as a person, and not a legend or historical icon, it would be through Arnie. So Bucky decided that was the avenue he would pursue.

Unfortunately there wasn’t a lot of information on the man himself. Arnie Roth had survived World War Two, returned home to Brooklyn and lived a relatively quiet life as a photographer with his lifelong partner Michael, _(Huh. That was a surprise. Had Steve known that about him when they were younger?)_ Friends since they were children, their relationship reminded Bucky of the one he had with Jimmie and Gabe. And just like Jimmie and Gabe, Arnie seemed to have been very protective of his friend’s privacy, never once publicly speaking about Steve Rogers or what he had been like prior to Project Rebirth, except for a single article Bucky located in the archives of the _Brooklyn Historical Society_ , in _The Spectator_ , a small, local Brooklyn newspaper that had gone out of print nearly ten years ago. Arnie had worked there for at least twenty years, and the paper had done a retrospective on him when he’d been about to retire. 

It was a small piece, that spoke mostly of Arnie’s contributions to the paper, and there were only two paragraphs where Arnie mentioned Steve, which was probably why it had gone ignored by most of the historians and scholars who studied Captain America’s life. But for Bucky it contained a treasure-trove of information.

_I grew up with Steve Rogers, yeah, that Steve Rogers, and he was the best friend any kid could have ever asked for. Runt of a fellah, sick a lot of the time, but he was mensch if there ever was one, and he never once backed down from doing what he thought was the right thing, or standing up to bullies. We used to get into so many fights, because he could never keep his mouth shut when he saw something happening that he couldn’t just let stand, and I can’t tell you how many rallies I had to drag him home from once the police showed up. But he was a real stand up fellah, and for all the trouble we got into running wild in the streets of Red Hook as kids, my family adored him. His momma was a widow, who never had it easy, and she worked all hours trying to keep a roof over their heads and enough food on their table, never mind all the medicines Stevie needed. So he was usually at our house for dinner, and he always came for Shabbat, even if he was a goy. But he loved my bubbe’s cooking, especially her matza ball soup and brisket, always asking for seconds. And you should have seen how my mom and bubbe took care of him after Sarah died, trying to feed him ‘til he nearly burst. He was one of ours, you know, and we were going to take care of him. After he died, we always kept a place open for him, even after I got home from the war. Seemed only right, you know?_

_He was a great guy, the best friend anyone could have ever asked for, and I still miss him to this day. We’re all still here because of his sacrifice, and it breaks my heart that he never got to see the difference he made._

The article had been published in 1971, and after Bucky swallowed past the lump in his throat, some further research informed him that Arnold Roth died peacefully in his bed in 2008, at ninety-years-old, surrounded by his family, just four years before the Valkyrie had been found. Arnie had never known that his childhood friend did in fact get to see the world his selflessness had saved.

It was heartbreaking, and Bucky couldn’t help but remember the look on Gabe’s face when he opened his eyes and found him standing over him while Jimmie used his knife to slice through the straps tying Bucky to that table. Unlike him, Gabe and Jimmie, they never got their reunion. But war had always been a cold, hard, indifferent bitch, and there were plenty of people who never got to see their sons, daughters or loved ones again.

The poor Roths. And poor Steve. The right choice was seldom the easiest one, and could be just as devastating as the wrong one.

Still, once Bucky wiped his eyes and picked up his copy of the article from the printer, he realized he now had more insight from this brief article than he’d gained from the rest of his research. A scrappy hellion from Brooklyn, which yeah, okay, he could identify with, who had joined the military because he thought it was the right thing to do. Who had grown up eating at the family table of his best friend, his brother, for all intents and purposes, sharing their love through food. He and Steve really did have a lot in common, more than Bucky originally assumed.

Granted, Bucky had grown up eating Japanese and soul food, instead of Jewish cuisine. But Jewish food, especially homecooked, well-made Jewish food was some of the best stuff on earth _(although how Steve had gone from challah breads and mushroom barely soups to those god-awful protein bars and shakes Bucky would never understand. Maybe Project Rebirth or being frozen for seventy years had permanently damaged his taste buds?)_ And there were still plenty of small Jewish delis as well as Kosher restaurants in Brooklyn Bucky knew of that he could work with, along with a few other things that were still around that someone who had grown up in New York City, especially Brooklyn, would be familiar with. He could start small, with clues that would let Steve Rogers know not only was Bucky very aware of their connection, but that he also knew exactly who his soulmate was.

He still wouldn’t reveal who he was though; even though Steve had definitely started to eat better, he was still pissed off about those protein shakes. He was a fucker like that, and unabashedly proud of it.

***

The Choward’s Violet Candies were his first message. Created back in the thirties, they were a classic and not to everyone’s taste. But George had loved them, and he’d passed that love onto his son. They weren’t all that common now, but easy enough to find if you knew where to look, and Bucky had a running tally in his head of all the places throughout the city where he could always find his favorite treats. He purchased a packet of them on his lunchbreak, popped two into his mouth, and opened Twitter. Two minutes later, _@SGRogers1918_ posted a picture of violets along with a caption that confirmed Bucky was on the right track.

That night Bucky stopped at the Essen Deli and picked up a container of matzah ball soup, which was some _damned fine_ soup, and contented himself with the knowledge he was really going to enjoy his dinner.

His meal got another positive response, and as he slurped the last bit of the golden broth from its bowl, he wondered how long it would take for the good old Captain to realize that someone, _the right someone_ , had caught on to what he was doing on Twitter, and was sending messages of his own.

Not very long at all, it turned out, when in response to Bucky enjoying some Dr. Brown’s Cel-Ray soda, another classic Bucky had always appreciated, the responding tweet came with a request. It was subtle, and one had to read between the lines to see exactly what it was Rogers was really saying, but it was obvious he was starting to suspect what he was Sensing weren’t just random food choices.

Right then. It was time to up the ante and let Steve know that yep, someone, his soulmate, was definitely paying attention.

Steve, punk that he was, readily engaged, and started making even more requests. When Bucky treated him to a slice of apple pie from one of his favorite bakeries, while appreciative, the jerkoff had the nerve to ask him for cherry. And all right, maybe it wasn’t such a hardship, and Paulette’s Pies did have an even better cherry than apple pie, but _come on_ , Bucky was trying to make a point here, and nothing was more American ( _ha ha_ ) than apple pie.

Then the asshole asked for brisket, followed by meatloaf, pot roast, latkes, and stuffed cabbage, which ended up with Bucky running all over Brooklyn in order to make sure his stupid, demanding, _oh-now-all-of-a-sudden-you-remember-what-good-food-is_ soulmate got a taste of all the foods he must have once loved. Bucky would have complained, but he was eating really well, and he might, just might, have brought this on himself. And Bucky had always enjoyed a challenge, and Rogers was proving to be a worthy opponent, certainly doing his best to keep Bucky on his toes. They were…

They were a good match, Bucky couldn’t help but conclude. Bucky could readily admit he easily got bored, which was why he enjoyed the flexibility, travel and chance to meet new people his job as a translator provided him. He knew he was intelligent, and could be a bit on the bossy side, which was also why he had been a good commander. And when he was younger, and used to dream about the type of man his soulmate would be, while he had fantasized about someone soft and warm he could cuddle against, he had never wanted a passive partner. For Bucky, softness didn’t mean weakness, but resiliency, strength, flexibility. And good old Captain Ameri- _No, Steve_ , his name was Steve, was certainly proving to be all of that.

Not only that, but the more they interacted, however one sided their communication must have seemed to Steve, as the weeks progressed, Bucky couldn’t help but notice and accept the fact Ichika had been right that night he first talked to her about his soulmate. Because while simultaneously playful and demanding, there was something in Steve’s tweets that hinted at an undercurrent of loneliness and longing. In nearly each and every one there was a reference to _home, family, people you care about_ , and in his last one, in response to the old-fashioned dinner Bucky had cooked himself without any prompting, _@SGRogers1918_ had written;

_I know it might not be considered fancy to most, but I’ve always thought that chicken pot pie would be the perfect meal to share with someone you love._

_Oh Jesus,_ the guy was killing him. And it was probably time for Bucky to stop his teasing. It wasn’t his intent to be cruel; he just wasn’t quite ready for a face-to-face meeting, at least not yet, but he could initiate contact. He’d just have to do it the right way. Something that said _I’m here and I’m willing, but maybe we could get to know each other better first. But I have heard you, and you aren’t alone anymore. Just be patient with me._

But what?

And then Bucky glanced at the date/timestamp on the tweet, and realized he would have to do better than that. Because a big day was coming up for Steve, and Bucky didn’t have a lot of time to prepare. It would have to be something extra special, even better than anything he’d come up with before.

Cursing, Bucky turned back to his laptop and began to search through all of his bookmarks for just the perfect thing.

Thirty minutes later, he had it. The recipe broke it down into simple step-by-step instructions, and Bucky wouldn’t need to purchase any special equipment to make it either. Granted, some of the ingredients, one in particular, were difficult to find, but further research proved not impossible, and Bucky would probably have to call in a favor to get his hands on it. But that was all right, he had plenty of those owed him, and this, Steve, his soulmate, would definitely be worth it.

***

If anyone asked Steve how he was going to spend his thirtieth birthday, he would have never guessed that it would be curled up in his bed, at the end of a great day, quietly sobbing into his pillow. They would have been aghast, and immediately tried to cheer him up, thinking something was wrong and wanting to fix it. But the thing of it was, there was nothing to fix. And the tears, while heavy and filled with mourning, were also happy ones, ones Steve wouldn’t have traded for anything in the world.

Because his soulmate, his pain-in-the-ass, _I still don’t know what you’re eating half the time, and what’s with all the spicy food_ soulmate, had given Steve something he thought he’d never get the chance to taste again. And he did it on Steve’s birthday.

Banana cake.

The same banana cake his mother used to make for him. Not only that, but his soulmate had gotten the recipe exactly right, the bananas he used not the blander ones Steve had been forced to become accustomed to in the twenty-first century, but the sweeter, richer Gros Michel banana he’d grown up eating. It had to be deliberate, and must have taken an extreme amount of effort to locate, and yet there it was on his tongue, for him to savor and enjoy, Sarah Rogers’ _Just For Steve Banana Birthday Cake_.

They said scent was the sense most tied to memory, but as that taste melted on his tongue, Steve was suddenly a little boy again, scrawny and sickly, but safe, so safe, in his mother’s kitchen, her arms, her fingers gentle in his hair as she sung Happy Birthday to him and told him to make a wish.

Steve couldn’t remember the last time he felt as safe, as loved, as he did in those memories, as he did lying now in his bed mourning the mother he had lost far too young, but feeling the care and careful consideration his soulmate used to come up with the perfect gift for him.

His heart was too full, with too many things indescribable, and the only way to let it out was through tears. It had been a long time since he’d cried, and once he started, he couldn’t stop.

_‘Are you alright, Captain Rogers?’_ There was both concern and a surprising gentleness in JARVIS’ voice when he made his inquiry what must have been at least half an hour later.

“I’m fine, JARVIS,” Steve somehow managed to answer through a throat tight with too many things. “Just, being hit by a lot of memories, and I need to be alone for a little while. Please engage privacy mode.”

_‘Of course, Captain. Privacy Protocols engaged. However please let me know if there is anything I can do to assist you.’_

“Thank you JARVIS.” Per the protocols, JARVIS didn’t respond, but the lights in Steve’s bedroom did dim, and Steve was able to close his eyes, and cry himself quietly to sleep.

***

That night he dreamed of his mother’s voice, and her curly red hair. Of banana cake, and the tune she used to whistle when she was remembering his father. The blue of her eyes and the ring of black leaves around her wrist.

Thin arms that were stronger than they looked, that slowly transformed into muscular ones that were just as strong, but also just as gentle. And a soft voice that whispered, _‘It’s alright, I’ve got you, it’s okay. I’m here now, and you’re gonna be okay Stevie, I promise you.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Choward's Violet Candy](https://chowardcompany.com/company-profile/) are a very unique candy, with a very distinct taste, kind of like flowers and perfume. People either love or hate them, but I've always been a huge fan, and they were definitely around during Steve's youth. 
> 
> [Dr. Brown's Cel-Ray soda](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dr._Brown%27s) is also another NYC classic, which is good, yes, but the Black Cherry flavor has always been my favorite. 
> 
> And yes, there really is a [restaurant in NYC](http://www.eatsmac.com/) that serves only mac and cheese. If you're ever in town, I highly recommend you pay them a visit. 
> 
> And that concludes this chapter's food porn. 😁😁😁
> 
> **hugs to you all** and be safe.


	10. Chapter 10

_‘Are you feeling better this morning, Captain Rogers?’_ JARVIS inquired when Steve walked into his kitchen the next day, heading straight for the coffee pot.

“Much better JARVIS. And I’m sorry for last night, I didn’t mean to worry you,” Steve answered, pouring himself a cup of the hot coffee. That was definitely a perk of living in the Tower. JARVIS always made sure there was a freshly brewed pot waiting for him first thing in the morning.

_‘You have no need to apologize Captain. In fact, from what I have heard Miss Potts telling Sir on multiple occasions, sometimes a good cry is exactly what is needed to help deal with things. A release both the body and mind need, and a necessary step in the recovery process.’_

“She’s a smart lady, Pepper,” Steve agreed, stirring some sugar and cream into his coffee.

_‘Indeed she is, Captain.’_ They were both pretty fond of Pepper; in fact, Steve was positive everyone who lived in the Tower felt the same way. _‘With that said, are there any specifications you want me to look out for before I begin this morning’s review of your Twitter account? I am assuming the incident from last night was in response to something that came to you from your soulmate.’_

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, even though he knew the gesture was useless. He still interacted with JARVIS as if he were a human being, even if he was living inside of what basically amounted to his body. JARVIS claimed to enjoy their conversations, how Steve always treated him with courtesy, politeness and respect. It was simple enough to do; JARVIS was extremely easy to get along with, a pleasant companion, and it never ceased to amaze him that Tony had been the one to create him, when Tony was the complete opposite. “Look for any reference, no matter how small, to banana cake or the Gros Michel banana.”

_‘Time of Sense?’_

“Around twelve-thirty or so.”

_‘Initiating review. I will inform you if there are any responses that are a potential match to your search parameters.’_

“Thanks,” Steve said, and then scanned the contents of his refrigerator in an attempt to decide what he wanted to eat for breakfast. There was some freshly sliced fruit, granola and yoghurt he could have, and more than enough cream to make a hearty bowl of oatmeal he could mix with some butter and honey. Both were easy to make, and filling enough to carry him at least halfway through the morning. More importantly, from all indications nothing his soulmate would be opposed to either.

He found himself once again doing what he so often did after he’d gotten a Sense, letting his body run on automatic while he ruminated on the person the Fates had tied him to. While Steve initially thought him a masochist, the past few weeks had proven quite the opposite. Whoever he was, he was actually quite kind and thoughtful. Not a pushover, and certainly not someone who appreciated being ignored, but once Steve, under Natasha’s guidance, started to make much more aware and considerate food choices, his soulmate had responded in kind. And it was obvious he was paying attention to Steve’s Twitter account. But as of yet, there had still not been any attempts at direct contact, and Steve couldn’t help but wonder why. There had to be some explanation, but none Steve could come up with. What reason could there be, and why was it taking so long? After last night, especially after last night, Steve was more desperate than he had ever been for just about anything in his life. Did he think Steve didn’t want to meet him? Was he afraid of being rejected? Whoever he was, he had to have figured out by now that wasn’t the case. But there was still nothing to give Steve any hint as to who he was.

Steve was so lost in his thoughts, the endless circle of questions, he didn’t realize he’d lost track of time, and fifteen minutes had passed until JARVIS’ voice pulled him back into the present.

“What was that, JARVIS?” Steve asked, licking the last bit of yoghurt from his spoon.

_‘I said, Captain, that I am sorry to disturb you, but I believe I have located a private message in your inbox that is most likely a positive hit.’_

“What?” Steve’s spoon clattered to the table top.

_‘Indeed Captain,’_ JARVIS continued. _‘It took me a little longer to identify, due to all the birthday wishes in your inbox, but given the evidence, I think your soulmate has finally decided to initiate contact.’_

_“What?”_

_‘Indeed, Captain.’_

“ _Holyshitholyshit!_ Fucking finally!” Steve stood from the table and began to frantically dig through his pockets. “ _Where the hell is my phone?_ ”

_‘In your bedroom, on your bureau, where you left it last night Captain.’_

“Shit!” Steve bolted out of his kitchen and into his bedroom. “Probability of error?”

_‘Given the current evidence, and time of receipt, less than point-zero-zero-two-percent. You will find the message already open and waiting for you once you unlock your phone.’_

Steve’s mobile was already in his hands by the time JARVIS finished speaking. Steve’s fingers were shaking so badly he nearly dropped it twice, and it took him three attempts before it recognized his thumbprint and woke from sleep mode. But once it did, and Steve saw exactly what JARVIS had been kind enough to highlight, there, plain as day, for him to read was an obvious and undeniable message from his soulmate. It was simple and brief, and all the more powerful because of it.

Sent from _@TheBetterToEatYouWith_ on July 5th at 12:48 a.m. was a sepia toned photo of a banana cake recipe from 1934, and the text _I hope you enjoyed it. The Gros Michels were a bit hard to find, but I think they were worth it, don’t you? Happy Birthday Steve._

That was it, no more, no less, but there, undeniable and irrevocable proof of his soulmate’s existence.

“Holy shit, holy shit,” Steve whispered, his knees going out on him, his eyes locked on the screen. “There you are, there you are. _Finally._ What took you so long?”

_‘It appears as if your soulmate wanted to give you something special for your birthday, Captain. I believe he succeeded.’_

“Any other messages or retweets?”

_‘None, Captain.’_

“How long has he been following me?”

_‘That particular account was created twenty-eight days ago, and subscribed to your feed within an hour of its creation. I have also been able to determine that yours is the only one @TheBetterToEatYouWith is following. How would you like to proceed Captain? Are there any further steps you would like me to initiate?’_

“No, no, that won’t be necessary,” Steve shook his head. “You’ve already done more than enough, and I never would have been able to get this far without your help. Thank you so much for that, but I think I can handle it from here.”

_‘I was more than happy to assist you, Captain. Please do not hesitate to ask if you require any further assistance. And I wish you nothing but the best of luck, as I know how important this is to you.’_

“Thank you,” Steve mumbled absently, already working on his response. A glance at the time informed him it was just a little past seven a.m., but that didn’t matter. He’d waited long enough, he couldn’t be expected to wait a single second longer.

**SGRogers1918** : _You asshole._

_Whoops._ That was probably not the best way to introduce himself. But both his mother and Arnie always told him he had a tendency to blurt out the first thing that came to his mind without a thought toward the consequences, and it was already too late to take it back.

The response was almost immediate.

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _Took you long enough._

**SGRogers1918:** _Took you almost an entire month._

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _Didn’t anybody ever tell you patience is a virtue? Good things come to those who wait._

**SGRogers1918:** _I’m 100 years old. I think you’ve made me wait long enough._

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _You know, I can delete this account just as easily as I created it. Go back to lurking and eating all those spicy foods I know you love so much._

**SGRogers1918:** _No wait, don’t do that, please. I’m sorry. It just feels like I’ve been trying to find you for forever._

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _Not quite that long. Did you enjoy the cake?_

**SGRogers1918:** _I did. Thank you. Is it really you?_

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _Yeah Steve, it’s really me._

**SGRogers1918:** _How do I know that for sure? Sorry, but I have to be cautious. I’m sure you can understand why._

__

Steve hated having to type that, he truly did, but as eager as he was, as much as he wanted to believe, he couldn’t deny the fact there were people out there who would use any opportunity to get close to him for a multitude of reasons, none of them good. Maybe one of his millions of followers had figured out what he was trying to do. And there was always the possibility, however slight, that someone had hacked into his account. HYDRA had infiltrated SHEILD after all, and no one noticed until it was too late. He couldn’t take that risk; not with his teammates, and not with his heart when he’d been waiting so long for this moment. He didn’t think he’d survive the heartbreak.

Thankfully _TheBetterToEatYouWith_ seemed to understand.

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _No, I get it, I do. There was the banana cake last night. And if you give it a second, you should be tasting grapefruit juice._

As soon as Steve read those words, the tingling came, and his tongue was hit with the tart and sour flavor of grapefruit juice. He laughed in relief. But _TheBetterToEatYouWith_ was far from done proving his case.

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _When I first started sensing you, you were practically living on protein shakes and bars – that shit is **NASTY,** BTW. I’d been sensing you for about two weeks, and trying to reach out to you, but you were too busy doing whatever it is you do all damned day, until I ate this._

The message was accompanied by a link, that when Steve clicked on it opened a page for something called the Paqui One Chip Challenge, which further reading explained was a corn chip covered in California Reaper Pepper seasoning, one of the hottest peppers in the world.

**SGRogers1918:** _You fucker! That shit was horrible! I honestly thought you were trying to kill me!_

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _Wimp. And you totally deserved it. I needed to do something to get your attention._

**SGRogers1918:** _Well you sure as shit got it with that stunt._

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _Desperate times, desperate measures. And I have a Grey Space, that’s been itching like crazy lately. On my upper left arm. I’m assuming yours is on your right, even though there’s no record anywhere of you being born with one._

Steve closed his eyes, because those words were all the proof he needed. He’d been pretty positive as soon as he saw the first message, but now there was absolutely no doubt in his mind he was talking to his soulmate. And there was no one, outside of his teammates, who knew about his Grey Space, and they were all sworn to secrecy.

**SGRogers1918:** _It is. I wasn’t born with one, but it was there when they pulled me from the ice. No one knows why, it’s not supposed to happen like that, but it’s there now._

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _Sorry._

**SGRogers1918:** _Don’t apologize. In fact, when do you want to meet? Do you want to come to the Tower? Or I can meet you someplace else instead?_

For the first time since they began messaging each other, there was a delay before _TheBetterToEatYouWith_ responded, and when one finally came in and Steve read it, his heart sank.

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet._

**SGRogers1918:** _Why not?_

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _You come with a lot, just by being who you are. Being with you is going to change everything, and I have a family I love and adore, and I need to take them into consideration too._

Fuck. He wasn’t wrong, Steve couldn’t deny that. But thanks to Natasha, and Pepper, there were already plans in place, safeguards, he was sure could be modified to account for his soulmate’s family. He was in the middle of typing this out when another message popped up.

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _And I don’t think you’re aware of this yet, but I’m a man. An out, gay man._

**SGRogers1918:** _Yeah, so? What the hell does that have to do with anything?_

The response to that question was a link, that when Steve clicked on it took him to the Amazon page for a book entitled _A Love Shattered by War_ , a bestselling novel about his supposed love affair with Peggy Carter. Followed by another that linked to a movie from the seventies, which according to both Sam and Bruce was considered a classic, about the same topic. And another, that brought Steve to the page on the Smithsonian’s website that highlighted his romantic relationship with Peggy. His soulmate had obviously been doing his research; unfortunately all the source material he’d found was wrong.

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _I have no intentions of trying to force you into anything, and it could be that our bond is platonic, but I won’t go back into the closet for any reason. We don’t have to be seen in public together, but I’m not going to deny who I am, not even for you._

**SGRogers1918:** _OK first off, you might have asked me yourself before you jumped to any conclusions. Secondly, I’m queer, always have been. I’m not out, but I’m not ashamed of it. And lastly, I am gay, like I said, but you do know that bisexuality is a thing that exists, right?_

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _I know what bisexuality is. But there was never any indication you were ever anything but straight._

Steve was starting to get pissed off.

**SGRogers1918:** _Do you believe every goddamned thing you read? I had no control over what was being written about me, being in the ice for almost seventy years. And in case you weren’t aware of this, with all the research you’ve obviously done on me, but back when I was growing up, you didn’t come out. You could end up getting killed if you did. That’s not to say I won’t come out now, and I know things are different, I just haven’t had a reason to. Don’t make assumptions about me when you don’t even know me yet. You’re my soulmate, and I will never deny that truth to anyone. But I would appreciate it if you would treat me with the same respect._

That seemed to shut the idiot up, at least for a few minutes, giving Steve enough time to take a few, deep calming breaths, just like Sam taught him to.

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _You’re right. That was shitty of me. Sorry. I shouldn’t have made any assumptions without talking to you first._

Well, at least the guy could admit when he was wrong. That was a good sign.

**SGRogers1918:** _Apology accepted. So now that that’s out of the way, when can we meet? Unless I’m doing something with the rest of my team, my schedule is pretty flexible._

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _I’m still not ready for that, not just yet. But maybe we could get to know each other a little better first before that happens instead?_

Steve would have slammed his forehead into the table if he had still been in his kitchen. He was tired of waiting, and he couldn’t see the point, not when it was beyond obvious they were each other’s soulmate and destined for one another.

But…the truth was his soulmate had some concerns, valid ones, and needed a bit more time. He wasn’t telling Steve no, just asking for him to be patient. And a big part of any strong relationship, whether you were soulmates or not, was listening to what your partner was telling you, and respecting their boundaries. If Steve wanted to be trusted, he had to prove he was trustworthy. They had come this far, what was a little longer? They were already “talking” to each other; Steve could wait.

**SGRogers1918:** _OK_

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _Thank you. And I hate to cut this short, but I have to leave for work soon._

**SGRogers1918:** _Already?_

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _Sorry, but dem’s da breaks. Any requests for lunch?_

**SGRogers1918:** _As long as it’s not spicy I don’t care. Do you have any idea how many antacids I’ve gone through over the past few months?_

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _**laughing emoji** I make no promises, but I’ll see what I can do. I’ll have to come up with something interesting, see what you think._

**SGRogers1918:** _So keep the antacids handy, is what you’re saying._

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _Maybe._

Steve smiled, but realizing their impromptu conversation was coming to a close, felt himself starting to panic.

**SGRogers1918:** _You’ll message me later?_

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _Yeah, I will. I promise. TTYL._

**SGRogers1918:** _TTYL_

So that was that then, Steve supposed. His first conversation with his soulmate, with more to come, and Steve had to admit, in spite of a few bumps, he’d enjoyed it. His soulmate was funny, protective of his loved ones, intelligent and willing to apologize for his mistakes. He was also stubborn, and a bit of an asshole, but so was Steve, so that was something they definitely had in common. And he had finally reached out, obviously been waiting for Steve to respond to his message, and for now wanted to get to know Steve better. And he sounded cute. Okay, he really didn’t “sound” like anything, but Steve felt given the circumstances he could be excused for jumping to conclusions. And it wasn’t as if Steve wouldn’t love or want him no matter what he looked like. He was Steve’s soulmate, his perfect match, his…

And that’s when Steve realized that not once, during the entire course of their conversation had Steve asked him his name.

“Oh fuck me, I’m such a fucking idiot,” Steve groaned, covering his face with his hands and collapsing back onto his bed. “Greatest strategic mind of the century, and I don’t even get his name.”

This time JARVIS remained suspiciously silent.

***

All thoughts about asking his soulmate his name fled from Steve’s mind however, when _TheBetterToEatYouWith_ messaged him later that afternoon, letting him know he was back online.

**SGRogers1918:** _What the hell was that?_

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _What? You didn’t like it?_

**SGRogers1918:** _No, I LOVED it. That was amazing! What was it?_

Steve wished there was a moaning emoji so he could more accurately communicate the response he’d had to that day’s lunch.

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _**laughing emoji** It was caldo verde and bifanas. The first is a soup made with cabbage and sausage, and the second a sandwich made with tons of pork on toasted white bread. Portuguese food. I had some for lunch with one of my clients today. Much more interesting than the cheeseburger you had, although the chili fries were pretty good._

**SGRogers1918:** _You don’t like cheeseburgers?_

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _I love a good burger, don’t get me wrong. But that was pretty basic. If you like burgers, I can take to a few places that’ll knock your socks off._

**SGRogers1918:** _Yeah, when?_

Steve had to try.

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _Don’t push you luck punk. Soon._

**SGRogers1918:** _Had to give it a shot._

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _No you didn’t. But if you want a good place to start, avoid any of the chains, even the newer ones that have been popping up all over the place. Head to Benny’s, over on East 46 th, not too far from the Tower. They make a double bacon cheeseburger to die for. And make sure you get a side of their onion rings. Some of the best in the city._

**SGRogers1918:** _Thanks. I’ll definitely check them out._

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _You won’t regret it._

**SGRogers1918:** _What are your plans for dinner?_

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _Dunno yet. Heading over to the fam’s. Depends on who’s cooked and what they decided to make. Whatever it is, it’s going to be delicious._

**SGRogers1918:** _Spicy?_

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _Might be. So fair warning._

**SGRogers1918:** _**crying emojis**_

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _Oh shut up. You got no taste._

**SGRogers1918:** _Is that why you like spicy food so much? You grew up eating it?_

_TheBetterToEatYouWith_ took a while to answer and Steve didn’t know if that was because he was in the middle of doing something else, or thinking about how he wanted to respond. Steve had a feeling it was most likely the latter.

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _I grew up in a big fam, with fantastic cooks in it, and I guess you could say I was probably exposed to a lot of different types of food growing up. I never thought anything of it, was just the way I was raised, you know? What my fam ate. And it was all delicious as far as I was concerned. I was surprised when I first went to school and discovered the other kids had never been exposed to the things I’d been eating since as long as I could remember. But I grew up loving food, and while not everyone in my fam was a good cook they always encouraged me to try new things. That habit stayed with me into adulthood, and I love trying different food. There’s very little I won’t try at least once, and few things I don’t like._

That had been the longest response so far, and while still oblique, it told Steve a lot about his soulmate, and certainly explained the variety of foods Steve experienced through his Sense. But still, Steve was and always had been a little shit, in spite of his size, and he could never turn down an opportunity to tease.

**SGRogers1918:** _Except for raisins._

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _Raisins are the devil’s nut sack! Gross chewy little blobs that stick to your teeth and get stuck at the back of your throat. I hate them!_

**SGRogers1918:** _I noticed, believe me._

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _If I ever get a Sense you’re eating them again, I’m going to eat something so spicy your teeth will melt._

Steve couldn’t help his snort.

**SGRogers1918:** _Message received._

Then he paused to consider his next words carefully.

**SGRogers1918:** _You seem to really like seafood, from what I can tell. Was that something you grew up eating a lot of too?_

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _I LOVE seafood. One of the first things I can remember my grandmother feeding me was deep fried octopus balls, and they’re still one of my favorites. I love all kinds of fish. But not just fish. I grew up eating all kinds of things, chicken and pork dishes, pigs feet and oxtail soups. I’ll admit spicy food is probably my fave, but I’ll eat just about anything. Have a bit of a sweet tooth too._

**SGRogers1918:** _And you said you’re eating with your family tonight. Is that something you do a lot?_

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _All the time. At least three times a week, but usually more. I’m very close to my fam, and eating together is important to us. Sharing food has always been one of the ways we show our love._

It sounded absolutely wonderful to Steve, a family coming together for home cooked meals and to talk about their day. Steve wondered how they would react to him, if they would be willing to make room at their table for their son’s soulmate.

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _What about you? You have any big group dinners you go to these days?_

**SGRogers1918:** _Not really. I eat with my teammates sometimes, but we all tend to go our separate ways at the end of the day. Sometimes I go to Sam’s, he’s one of my friends, mom’s house for dinner, and she’s an amazing cook, but not too often. And when I was growing up, big dinners weren’t really a thing. My mom had to work a lot to make ends meet, and most times we had to scrimp and save just to get by. She was a great mom, did her best, but we were poor. And then there was the Depression. I don’t know if you know about Arnie Roth, but he was my best friend when I was growing up, and if it wasn’t for his family, I would have probably starved to death._

_TheBetterToEatYouWith_ was quiet for a while, once again obviously weighing what he was going to say. Steve answered a text from Sam and one from Natasha, ignoring Tony’s, while he waited for a response.

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _I’m going to send you something. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen this, not too many people seem to be aware of it, and I don’t mean to catch you off guard, but I think you should probably know it’s out there._

**SGRogers1918:** _OK_

An attachment came through a few seconds later. When Steve opened it, it turned out to be an interview Arnie had given at the end of his career. Steve hadn’t seen it; it wasn’t in any of the files SHIELD provided him when he asked about what had happened to his former teammates. From what Steve understood, Arnie had lived a very quiet and private life once he returned from Europe. Yet there he was, right there, in front of him. As he read the words, he could actually hear Arnie’s voice, his Brooklyn accent thicker than Steve’s had ever been, peppered with just a bit of Yiddish, reminding Steve of all he had lost. The tears were back, making his eyelashes heavy, because it hadn’t been that long for him since he’d last seen his childhood best friend. But here was a piece of him, small and delicate, another gift from his soulmate, who was proving to be full of them.

**SGRogers1918:** _I didn’t know about this. Never saw it before. Thank you._

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _You might want to check out the Brooklyn Historical Society. They have a small section about him and his life after the war. More than the exhibit at the Smithsonian. Sounds like he was a great guy._

_He was_ , Steve didn’t say, _one of the best_ , quickly scanning through the rest of the interview.

**SGRogers1918:** _You really did your research, didn’t you? Is this how you figured out about the Jewish food?_

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _Got it in one. And life has taught me it's always good to be prepared._

**SGRogers1918:** _You seem to know a lot about me, when I still don’t know much about you at all._

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _Here we go. **eye-rolling emoji**_

**SGRogers1918:** _Oh come on, three questions. You gotta give me at least that much._

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _I don’t gotta give you shit._

**SGRogers1918:** _I’m your soulmate._

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _You’re a pain in my ass, with horrible eating habits._

**SGRogers1918:** _Two questions._

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _That’s 2 too many._

**SGRogers1918:** _I can do this all day, you know._

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _And I can turn my phone off._

**SGRogers1918:** _One question. Just one. Every time we talk._

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _Fine. 1 question. But I get to do the same._

**SGRogers1918:** _What’s your name?_

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _Nope. No way._

**SGRogers1918:** _Why not? It’s a basic question. The first thing two people find out about each other._

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _Yeah, and I give you that, and you have Stark’s AI run a background check on me, and pull up all my personal info._

**SGRogers1918:** _I wouldn’t._

_(He totally would.)_ It also proved _TheBetterToEatYouWith_ had really done his research; JARVIS’ full capabilities were highly classified, known only to a few in the Tower outside of the Avengers themselves. And yet the guy still knew enough to be wary of him.

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _Don’t bullshit me. I’m not comfortable with you having that info yet._

His soulmate, whoever he was, could be kind, unbelievably generous and considerate. But he was also frustrating as fuck.

**TheBetterToEatYouWith:** _But you can call me Bucky. It’s not my legal name, but it’s what anyone close to me calls me._

_Bucky?_ What the hell kind of nickname was Bucky? Still, it was more than he had a minute ago, and it certainly felt more intimate than _TheBetterToEatYouWith._

**Steve:** _Hello Bucky. It’s nice to finally know your name._

**Bucky:** _You too Steve. I’m gonna log off now. I’m just about walk into the house, and I can already smell the jambalaya. The way my mom always makes it, it’s got a really nice kick. So brace yourself, cos I always go back for thirds and fourths whenever she cooks it._

**Steve:** _**crying emojis**_

**Bucky:** _**grinning devil emojis**_

***

**Steve:** _I hate you so much right now. **attached picture of half empty container of antacids**_

**Bucky:** _**laughing emojis**_

***

**Steve:** _I went to Benny’s today for lunch. You were right. The burgers were phenomenal._

**Bucky:** _I know you did. And didn’t I tell ya? It’s all about the sear._

They fell into a new pattern over the next couple of days, constantly messaging each other, almost always either right before or after breakfast, lunch and dinner, as well as throughout the rest of the day. Whatever Bucky did for a living, his schedule seemed unpredictable. Sometimes he would respond within a few minutes, and other times it could be hours before Steve got a response. One night he even let Steve know he was attending a business function, where he couldn’t be distracted, and wouldn’t be able to message him back until the following day. Steve understood, of course he did, yet he still felt strangely adrift and a bit lonely by the lack of alerts on his phone.

_How did it go?_ Steve messaged him the next morning.

**Bucky:** _Went well. Client was very happy. They’re a good client and I enjoy working with them, but it was a lot of talking and my throat’s still tired. You’re going to be tasting a lot of tea with honey and lemon today._

**Steve:** _Gotcha. Do you enjoy your job?_

**Bucky:** _I do. It’s interesting and I get to interact with a lot of people. Sometimes I get to travel and sometimes I work from home. But I love it and it pays well._

**Steve:** _Question time – what is it you do?_

**Bucky:** _Nope. Too personal._

**Steve:** _Why not? That’s pretty basic info._

**Bucky:** _I have a very unique skill set. Not many people can do what I do, and even fewer can do it as efficiently or quickly as I can. I tell you that and you and that AI of Stark’s could probably figure out who I am._

That was interesting; Bucky had a talent that wasn’t very common among the general population, and was able to make a good living from it. Unique enough that by revealing it he was certain Steve could figure out his true identity. Steve was once again intrigued and fascinated.

**Steve:** _Are you a superhero? You can tell me the truth. We can share work experiences. (And his name is JARVIS btw)_

**Bucky:** _No, not a superhero. Only insane idiots sign up for that gig. (Who’s JARVIS?)_

**Steve:** _Yeah, but you get to travel, see the sights. Sounds like something you’d enjoy. (Stark’s AI.)_

**Bucky:** _Deal with explosions and fight off aliens. (He has a name?)_

**Steve:** _Please don’t mention the aliens. Do you know what a shock that was to find out they existed when I had only been out of the ice for two weeks? Hey, we have this thing called the internet now, and also GIANT FLYING WHALES FROM OUTER SPACE!!! **wide eye emoji** (He does, and he’s actually pretty nice.)_

**Bucky:** _I can only imagine. I was out of the country at the time, but even I had a hard time believing it until I saw the vids. (Tell him I said hello, and to keep outta my business.)_

_‘Please tell Mr. Bucky that I return his greetings, and that unless he proves to be a threat to anyone in my Tower, I will absolutely respect his privacy.’_

“I thought I engaged the privacy mode,” Steve said aloud, just as the Sense flooded his mouth with the warm sensation of black tea, honey and lemon.

_‘I apologize Captain, I will activate it now.’_ JARVIS actually sounded a bit disgruntled.

**Steve:** _He says hello right back, and he promises to respect your privacy. Is the tea helping?_

**Bucky:** _Little bit. But I’m going to sign off now. There’s a document I need to work on, and it’s a complicated one. I have to pay attention so I don’t make any mistakes._

**Steve:** _K. Talk to you at lunch?_

**Bucky:** _Lunch. TTYL._

***

**Steve:** _Can you cook? I know you like to eat, but can you cook as well?_

**Bucky:** _I can cook. I’m pretty good at it too. My mom couldn’t cook for shit, but my dad could, and he was great at it. But I grew up surrounded by some of the best cooks in the world, and I could never compare to them._

That didn’t make sense. Steve could have sworn Bucky told him his mother made a fantastic jambalaya; he even scrolled back to their earlier conversation to verify what Bucky had said, and discovered he wasn’t wrong. Was he lying?

**Steve:** _I thought you said your mom made the jambalaya you ate the other day, and that you loved it._

It took Bucky a long time to respond, and he was obviously weighing his words, deciding how to answer.

**Bucky:** _I grew up in a unique situation. My birth mom was a great mom. Best in the world, but she was a disaster in the kitchen. But I have two best friends I’ve known since I was a kid, and I spent as much time in their houses as I did my own, and it was the same for them. Their mothers always used to feed me. I grew up calling them my aunties. But my mom and dad died a few years ago, and I went through a really rough time. My fam really pulled together and saved me. Wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for them. So the aunties became the moms, cos they really always were, and I have two of them now. I also have a grandmother and grandfather because of them, and I would do anything for any of them._

That made a horrible sense. And it explained why Bucky was so protective of his family. They sounded like a wonderful group of people. 

**Steve:** _I’m so sorry you had to go through that. But your family sounds amazing._

**Bucky:** _Wasn’t your fault. Drunk driver. Killed my baby sister too. And they are. They never once gave up on me. So I’m sure you can understand why I’m a bit hesitant to meet you._

**Steve:** _They know about me?_

**Bucky:** _They do, and they know who you are. They’re excited to meet you, but I still need to be careful._

**Steve:** _I get that, I do. But you have to know I would never do anything to risk them. Would do everything in my power to protect them._

**Bucky:** _Maybe I’m protecting you from them._

**Steve:** _Then you’re doing a shitty job. Cos I can still taste that jambalaya, and it’s no easier coming up than it was going down two days ago._

**Bucky:** _**laughing emojis**_

***

**Steve:** _You live in the city, right?_

**Bucky:** _You’ll have to be more specific than that. There are lots of cities in the world._

**Steve:** _Don’t be a dick. You know exactly what city I mean. We’re on the same eating schedule, and you told me about Benny’s. You wouldn’t have known that unless you lived here. Ergo, you’re in NY._

**Bucky:** _Ergo? Are we now talking like it’s ye olden days?_

**Steve:** _Shut up. Am I right or am I wrong?_

**Bucky:** _I thought you knew the answer to that already._

**Steve:** _**eye rolling emojis**_

**Bucky:** _Yes, I live in NYC._

**Steve:** _Which borough?_

**Bucky:** _Nope._

**Steve:** _Born and raised?_

**Bucky:** _Yep._

**Steve:** _Me too. Brooklyn._

**Bucky:** _Everybody already knows that about you, punk._

**Steve:** _I’m still pissed off about the Dodgers though._

**Bucky:** _I’m signing off now._

***

**Bucky:** _Dogs or cats?_

**Steve:** _Um, dunno._

**Bucky:** _What do you mean you don’t know? It’s a simple enough question. Dogs or cats?_

**Steve:** _I don’t know. I had allergies as a kid, and we were too poor to have a pet. Both, I guess?_

**Bucky:** _Good answer._

**Steve:** _What about you?_

**Bucky:** _Both._

**Steve:** _Do you have any?_

This time, instead of a text, Bucky sent him a picture. When Steve opened it, he could make out two cats and two dogs, all curled up together in a pile in a sunbeam. The photo gave no other details away, but they looked content, and very well cared for.

**Steve:** _Yours?_

**Bucky:** _The Furnadoes. Hope, Hunter, Athena and Tuba._

**Steve:** _Tuba? Which one is that?_

**Bucky:** _Maybe one day you’ll find out. If you’re lucky._

**Steve:** _Soon?_

**Bucky:** _Maybe. I’m thinking yeah, soon._

**Steve:** _I can’t wait._

***

**Steve:** _Bucky._

**Steve:** _Bucky._

**Steve:** _Bucky._

**Steve:** _Bucky._

**Steve:** _Bucky. Bucky. Bucky. Bucky. Bucky._

**Bucky:** _OMG! What?_

**Steve:** _What’s an eleven-letter word for growing old?_

**Bucky:** _This is why you woke me up at 6 in the morning on a Sunday? Fuck you._

**Bucky:** _And it’s obsolescent._

**Steve:** _You just knew that off the top of your head?_

**Bucky:** _Go the fuck to sleep Steve, or I’m going to defenestrate you the first chance I get._

**Steve:** _What the fuck does defenestrate mean?_

**Bucky:** _Fuck off._

**Steve:** _That’s what it means?_

There was no answer.

***

When Steve checked, he discovered defenestrate wasn’t a fancy word for _fuck off_. Instead, it was a fancy word for throwing someone out a window. Apparently, he had defenestrated quite a few people when he was purging SHIELD of HYDRA. But still…

“How the hell did you even know that?”

***

In spite of the fact that Bucky was still hesitant to agree to a face to face meeting or give Steve any information he considered too personal, they still talked to each other every single day. And even if it was only through Twitter’s messenger function, it felt like more than that to Steve, as if they were having actual conversations. They bantered and teased one another, and the alerts on his phone were always the highlight of Steve’s day.

And while he still hadn’t met his reluctant soulmate as of yet, Steve was getting a pretty good sense of who he was. Bucky was funny, smart and cunning, with a sharp sense of humor, always able to give back as good as he got, while refusing to take any bullshit from Steve. The Fates had done well by them; they really were a good match, and Steve could admit to himself he was already falling in love.

Bucky could also be unbelievably kind and was concerned about Steve’s welfare, something he never failed to hide.

Two weeks into establishing direct communications, the Avengers went out on a mission to locate, confirm and hopefully destroy a final HYDRA compound. Knowing it meant radio silence for the next couple of days, Steve discretely sent a message to Bucky to let him know.

**Steve:** _Getting called out. Can’t give details but it’ll probably be a few days before I can talk again. And sorry, but you’re going to be tasting nothing but protein bars and tepid water for a while._

Steve would not be able to discuss any of the details with Bucky until he agreed to sign an NDA. Normally even spouses and close family wouldn’t be privy to such information, but it was also understood soulmates shared a bond that made it nearly impossible for them to keep secrets from one another, and allowances were deemed necessary for those in the military or other high security sectors. The NDAs were iron-tight and an extra layer of protection for each member of a soul-match, and both Pepper and Maria had expressed to him how vital it was for Steve’s future soulmate to sign one. Given what little he knew of Bucky so far, how protective he was of his own privacy, Steve wasn’t sure whether or not Bucky would agree, but he wouldn’t know for certain until they discussed it. In the interim, Steve tried to be as vague as possible while allaying any potential fears.

Bucky’s response was immediate.

**Bucky:** _Thanks for the head’s up. Be safe Stevie. Text me as soon as you can._

Steve would have blushed at the _Stevie_ if he hadn’t had to gear up at that exact second.

Three days and a successful mission later, Steve snuck his phone with him into the Quinjet’s bathroom to wipe the grime from his face and send Bucky a quick message.

He felt guilty doing it, but the radio silence had been unexpectedly hard on him. He’d been focused on the job, determined to destroy the base, but Bucky was his other half, and he hadn’t realized how dependent he’d become on their daily conversations until he was forced to deal with the silence on his phone. There was also the fact that as of yet, none of his teammates were aware he had finally made contact. He spent a lot of time ducking around corners, in bathrooms, sending off quick texts or responding to Bucky’s latest reply. It was akin to the way he felt when he was a teenager, and he and Arnie had gotten their hands on a pamphlet filled with dirty drawings that filled Steve with guilty pleasure; a sinful secret no one else knew about, that left him with sticky hands and his mind racing a mile a minute. There had been so much potential in those images, things he would have never imagined possible between two people, and he felt the same way about his relationship with Bucky. But a big part of the thrill back then _had_ been the secrecy, and that same feeling also infused his text conversations.

So while the water ran in the small, utilitarian bathroom, Steve pulled out his mobile and turned it on for the first time in what felt like forever.

**Steve:** _Mission successful. Heading home. Sorry about the bars. Please don’t murder me with a hot pepper._

Once again, the response was immediate.

**Bucky:** _You OK? No injuries?_

**Steve:** _Totally fine. Tired, dirty, but no injuries._

**Bucky:** _Team?_

**Steve:** _All OK._

**Bucky:** _ETA home?_

**Steve:** _Less than 2 hours._

**Bucky:** _Thank god. I was getting damned tired of tasting cardboard._

**Steve:** _You and me both._

**Bucky:** _I can’t promise no spice, but is there anything you’re in the mood for?_

**Steve:** _Honestly, right now I would kill for some mushroom barely soup, roast chicken and potatoes._

**Bucky:** _I’ll see what I can do._

Steve would have responded, but right at that moment Sam started pounding on the bathroom door, yelling, _“Dammit Steve! You’re not the only one who really needs to take a piss right now!”_

Steve logged off, finished wiping himself down, and exited the bathroom before Sam ripped the door off its hinges.

As soon as Steve’s feet touched the ground when they finally disembarked from the Quinjet on the Tower’s rooftop landing pad, his earwig dinged with an incoming message from JARVIS.

_‘Hello, Captain. I cannot tell you how happy I am that you, along with everyone else, has finally returned to the Tower unharmed.’_

“Thanks, JARVIS. Me too.”

_‘You are very welcome, Captain. And while there are things that I know you need to attend to currently, I would strongly suggest you return to your apartment before you do. I think you will be pleasantly surprised.’_

When Steve made it to his rooms a few minutes later, there was a large brown paper bag on his kitchen counter, the edges neatly folded and stapled shut.

“What’s this JARVIS?” Steve asked as he approached the counter.

_‘A delivery addressed to you arrived less than ten minutes ago. Once I verified the sender, I thought it best to have it brought to your rooms as soon as possible.’_

“From Bucky? Did he deliver it himself? Is he here?” The mission, the bag on his counter, even the upcoming debrief were suddenly the farthest things from Steve’s mind as he scanned the rest of his apartment.

_‘Unfortunately not, Captain. It was delivered by a gentleman employed by Seamless. But there was a notation on the delivery order that said a fifty-dollar tip would be included if the food was still hot when it arrived. Since it was, and given that I am certain you have not eaten a proper meal in the last three days, I added an additional one-hundred on top of that.’_

“You asshole,” Steve laughed.

_‘Pardon me, Captain?’_

“No, not you JARVIS.” Steve went back into his kitchen and ripped open the bag. “Bucky. You sneaky, wonderful, I’m-already-crazy-about-you, you sonuvabitch, asshole.” As he began to remove the contents of the bag, Steve discovered a large container of mushroom barely soup, an entire roasted chicken, and a very generous serving of roasted potatoes. All of it still steaming hot.

***

**Steve:** _Thank you. **smiling emoji**_

**Bucky:** _Bon appetite._

**Bucky:** _And you’re welcome._

***

“So how’s your soulmate doing? Text you anything interesting lately?”

“What the fuck, Natasha?” Steve stumbled over his own feet into the open elevator, after an invigorating and challenging two-hour training session. So of course that was when Natasha decided to strike.

Natasha merely arched one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows at him. “Has he?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Deciding offence was the best defense, Steve went with a tried and true tactic. Lying.

“Uh-huh.” Sam leaned back against the elevator wall and crossed his arms. “Come off it man. Did you think we wouldn’t notice?”

“Notice what?”

“You’re always rushing off someplace after every meeting or training session,” Natasha said while Sam rolled his eyes at him.

“Taking a hell of a lot longer in the bathroom than even a super-solider would need to take a piss,” Sam added.

“And you’ve always got your hands near your phone, checking it constantly when you think no one is looking,” Natasha smiled a Cheshire Cat smile at him.

“I do not.” Steve pulled his hand from his pocket, where it had been clenching his phone.

“Uh-huh,” Sam grunted again. “You wanna fill us in?”

Steve sighed in defeat, pulling his phone out of his pocket, giving it a quick glance to check for any new messages, before he met their gazes with a sheepish grin. “JARVIS, will you please take us to my floor please?”

***

“How did you know?” Steve asked, once they were all settled on the couch in his living room.

“Like I said, it was pretty obvious what was going on once we started paying attention,” Sam said.

“And then there was all of your sudden activity on Twitter,” Natasha shrugged.

“JARVIS was supposed to block that from your feeds.”

“He did,” Natasha acknowledged with a tilt of her head. “But if you think I don’t have other ways of keeping track of these things, then you don’t know me very well at all. That was very clever of you, by-the-way, the way you coded your messages. Nothing too specific, unless someone knew exactly what you were referring to. I couldn’t have done it any better myself.”

“Thanks,” Steve blushed. “Does anybody else know?

“No, it’s just us. JARVIS has been doing an excellent job protecting your privacy. But like I said, I like to keep tabs on what’s going on. I told Sam, because he already knew more than anyone else, and I didn’t think you’d mind. But then your activity dropped off, just as quickly as it started, for no apparent reason. Of course people noticed. You should probably tweet something every once in a while if you want to keep up the charade.” There was a slight admonishment in her voice as she spoke.

“There are Nazis on there!” Steve hissed, because he was _never_ going to get over that. But then he paused to shrug before continuing, “and I got the results I was looking for, so I figured why bother anymore.”

“He made contact?” Sam asked.

“He made contact,” Steve smiled.

“Have you met him yet?” Natasha leaned forward. And this was Natasha when she wasn’t being the Black Widow or trying to break a mark; this was her being concerned and excited for one of her friends.

“No.”

“Why not?” Sam pressed.

“He’s…” Steve paused to glance down at his phone, resting on his coffee table, still dark, no new incoming messages. “He’s a very private person, from what I can tell. And he’s got a big family he’s close to and extremely protective of. He’s concerned about how it’s going to affect them when it’s discovered he’s Captain America’s soulmate.”

“But he’s not Captain America’s soulmate,” Sam said. “He’s yours, Steve Rogers’. He does know that right?”

“I’m pretty sure he does,” Steve admitted.

“But he’s not wrong either,” Natasha interjected calmly. “To us, to him, you’re Steve. But to the rest of the world you _are_ Captain America. It’s smart of him to take that into consideration, especially if he has a big family, like you said. It shows he’s thinking about it, that he’s protective of the ones he loves, and that’s not a bad quality to have in a partner, soulmate or not.”

“True,” Sam agreed.

“But now that we know about them, we can modify any plans we have, put in some additional security protocols to help allay any of his fears,” Natasha went on.

“Thanks,” Steve said. “I’ll let him know that. Maybe it’ll help. But please don’t tell anyone else about this, not just yet.”

“Why not?” Natasha asked. “The sooner we get something rolling, the better prepared we’ll be.”

“Because it’s new, and it’s private,” Steve smiled at Natasha’s small huff. “Yeah, I know, your favorite word. But it _is_ , Nat, and while I’m frustrated he still doesn’t want to meet yet, we have been getting to know each other, and I’m enjoying it.”

“What’s he like?” Sam’s voice was soft but sincere, just like the man himself.

“He’s…” Steve thought about the conversations they’d had over the past few weeks, wondering how he could even begin to put all that he was learning about Bucky into words. “Funny, smart, sharp. Doesn’t take any of my shit and won’t hesitate to curse me out if I’ve pissed him off. But he’s kind too, generous. Loves to eat, loves his family, like I said, but he loves animals too. Been through some rough times, but he’s pulled himself out of it, and it doesn’t seem to have made him mean or bitter.

“He’s just…He’s just it for me. And I know we’re meant to be, that the Fates already decided it for us, but even if he wasn’t my soulmate, he’s the one I would choose for myself, over anyone else in the world, you know?”

“I do.” Sam’s smile was filled with so much knowing and understanding, and Steve was once again grateful for his presence in his life. He thought, hoped, prayed, Bucky would like him when he finally introduced them.

“What else?” Natasha asked, as curious as Sam. “What’s his name? What does he do for a living?”

“He won’t tell me his full name yet, but he goes by Bucky to his friends.”

“Bucky?” Sam muttered under his breath. “Weird assed white people names.”

“As for what he does for a living, I dunno,” Steve shrugged. “He won’t say. From what he’s said, he’s got a specialized skillset, and he’s very good at what he does. But it’s unique enough that he knows if he told me, I’d probably use that to try and figure out who he is.”

“He knows you already, then,” Sam laughed.

“That’s…Interesting, to say the least.” Natasha’s brows were furrowed. “Military maybe? High end security?”

“Dunno. Don’t think so. He has clients he sees, but he also works from home.”

“I can look into it if you want me to,” Natasha offered. She was a lot like him in that way; it was the nature of their work, especially her work. Present them with a challenge, or a puzzle, and they immediately wanted to solve it.

“Please don’t,” Steve had to insist. “I’m trying to respect his privacy, and build his trust. I don’t think prying into his life before he’s ready for me to is going to do that.”

“All right,” she conceded. “For now.”

At just that second, Steve’s phone lit up with an incoming message, and Steve picked it up before anyone else had a chance to grab it. Reading the text, which was a continuation of their earlier conversation, Steve couldn’t help his grin.

**Bucky:** _All right, mister what’s the difference between taco bell and any other Mexican food? And why should I have to pay $25 for a meal when I could get the exact same thing for under 3 bucks, drag your ass to this place and try the caldo de camarones. It’s one of the most amazing things you’ll ever eat, and the absolute best Mexican food in all of NYC. Ask for Lucinda. She’ll hook you up._

Beneath it was a link to a small Mexican restaurant in Queens.

“Is that him?” Sam asked.

“Yep,” Steve said absently while typing his response.

**Steve:** _Is it spicy?_

**Bucky:** _**six middle finger emojis**_

Steve laughed.

“What’s he saying that’s got you smiling like that?” Sam wanted to know.

“He just recommended a place to go eat. Says it has the best Mexican food in the city.”

“I could go for Mexican food,” Sam said.

“Me too,” Natasha nodded.

“It’s in Queens,” Steve looked up from his phone to stare at them.

“Yeah well, you do know they have these amazing things called cars now right?” Sam snarked.

“Yeah but they don’t fly.” Steve was never going to get over being angry about that.

“What?” Both Sam and Natasha asked.

“But yeah, okay, we can give this place a try,” Steve ignored them. “Menu looks interesting.”

“Let’s go then,” Natasha rose from the couch with her typical grace, as liquid and boneless as a cat. “But first,” she reached out and snatched Steve’s phone from his hand, reminding him that while graceful you should never forget that a cat had claws. “Let’s take a selfie. Let him know he’s not the only one with family he loves, and who are looking forward to meeting him.”

“Good idea,” Sam joined Natasha in wrapping his arms around Steve, pressing their cheeks close together.

_“Can I be in the picture too?”_ a voice came from somewhere up above.

_“Dammit Clint!”_ Sam hissed, jumping at least two inches in the air while Steve squinted at his ceiling. Natasha, he couldn’t help but notice, didn’t flinch at all.

“What?” Clint asked, dropping down from where he’d been hiding in the air vents. “It’s not like I don’t want to meet him too. Especially if he knows about good Mexican places to eat.” He joined them, wrapping one arm around Natasha’s waist and his other around Steve’s shoulders.

“I really need to get some normal friends,” Sam grumbled.

“Says the man who straps on a pair of wings and nothing else to go flying through the sky,” Steve quickly recovered.

“You’d be bored out of your mind in a week,” Natasha added.

“We are normal,” Clint took the phone from Natasha’s hand. “Now everybody say cheese!”

A few moments later, Steve sent what he had to admit was a great photo to Bucky, along with the caption _My family wants to say hi. They’re all looking forward to meeting you._

Just as they were piling into the elevator, Steve received a response, which also included a photo.

**Bucky:** _You look like a bunch of weirdos. But nice weirdos. My fam says hi back. Guess which one is me._

The photo was a strange one, but it still made Steve laugh. It was of three feet, positioned in a circle, taken from above. One foot was wearing a yellow sock with dancing pigs on it, one was green with flying computers. And one, the last one, was a pale blue, covered in small Captain America shields.

**Steve:** _You have nice feet._

**Bucky:** _Like I said. Weirdo._

***

“So where are we going?” Tony asked, stepping into the elevator when it paused and its doors opened two floors beneath Steve’s.

_(Oh god, this was great. Just great.)_

“Nowhere,” Steve tried, he really tried, but then –

“We’re going to this Mexican place in Queens that Steve’s soulmate recommended.”

“Dammit Clint!”

“His Buckmate? Awesome. I could really go for some Mexican.”

“How did you know that?” Steve growled.

“Oh please,” Tony waved him off. “You think I need JARVIS to tell me everything that’s going on in my own Tower? Who do you take me for?”

“I swear to god, Tony –“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever,” Tony ignored him. “JARVIS, can you have a car ready for us when we get downstairs?”

_‘Happy is already waiting for you, Sir. Along with Miss Potts, Miss Hill, Miss Maximoff, and Dr. Banner. They are all eager to sample the supposedly best Mexican food in New York City.’_

Bunch of fucking, busy-body yahoos, the lot of them. Good luck trying to keep a secret from any of them.

But, Steve had to admit, he _was_ pretty crazy about them. _(Except for Tony. Tony was still a pain in the ass.)_

***

**Steve:** _**attached photo of a large table at Casa de Sabor, of the entire Avenger’s team sitting in front of empty plates, each making the thumbs up sign**_

**Bucky:** _Dammit Steve! If I can’t get in there anymore because Stark tagged the place on his Insta, I will staple your nuts to your shield._

**Steve:** _It was delicious! **smiling emojies**_

**Bucky:** _Just remember punk, you brought this on yourself!_

**Steve:** _Bucky! Bucky! What are you going to do?_

***

That night, Steve woke up in the middle of the night to a nuclear explosion of sour and salty so intense he could feel his tongue shriveling, and needed to drink two gallons of water, brush his teeth three times, and finish the last of his antacids just to get the taste out of his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that finally happened. 😏 
> 
> This chapter was a bit longer than most, with some more of Mags' amazing artwork, and if nothing else I hope it brings a smile to your face over the weekend. (Just like your comments always bring a smile to mine.) 
> 
> **hugs**


	11. Chapter 11

**Steve:** _So, have you heard about **SEX WEEK**?_

**Bucky:** _WTF????_

Reading Bucky’s response, Steve could have sworn he felt a choking sensation coming from the other end of his bond. Which, yeah, okay, he totally understood, because that had been his reaction when Sam first mentioned it to him.

“So I know you guys haven’t gotten your shit together enough to pick a date to finally meet yet, but when you do, make sure you let one of us know, so we can clear your schedule so you don’t get called in for at least the next seven days,” Sam said, apropos of nothing towards the end of Avenger’s movie night. That evening’s film, _American Beauty_ , picked by Bruce, had sounded promising, but within five minutes Steve was bored to tears. He’d tried to pay attention, he really had, since Bruce’s choices always seemed so sincere, but he really couldn’t have cared less about the main character’s supposed problems, and ended up texting Bucky to keep himself from falling asleep. From Clint’s snores and Sam’s disgruntled grumbling, he wasn’t the only one. Bucky was in the middle of providing Steve with his own list of favorite movies, which included _The Princess Bride, Moonstruck,_ and _Blade Runner (‘Make sure it’s the original, not the remake. That film’s a POS.’)_ , when Sam, finally having had enough of _‘stupid white man BS’_ apparently decided he needed a distraction.

“Thanks. I will,” Steve nodded absently. It was so typical of Sam to be the one looking out for Steve, letting him know they were all willing to make allowances for what was inevitably going to be one of the most lifechanging days of Steve’s life, maybe even more so than when he stepped into Erskine’s chamber, not knowing if he would be alive when the procedure was complete and the doors finally opened. Steve did plan to tell them, and intended to take a few days off afterwards, but knowing how concerned ( _nosey_ ) his teammates were, he would do it after the fact; he didn’t need them showing up with their curiosity _(and Tony, probably, no definitely, in his Iron Man suit)_ , and scaring Bucky off, when he already seemed hesitant enough as it was. But sometimes duty did call, usually when it was most inconvenient, and it was good to know his friends had his back.

“And make sure you’ve stocked up on plenty of lube,” Sam added.

_What?_

“What?” Steve was so shocked by Sam’s words he nearly dropped his mobile. He wasn’t the only one, as Clint, who had been in the middle of one of the loudest snores Steve ever heard, was suddenly wide awake and sitting up.

“Oh yeah.” Sam sounded supportive, but there was definitely a look in his eyes warning Steve he was about to receive payback for every single _on-your-lefts_ Steve had uttered during one of their runs. “Those first seven days after you and your soulmate meet, you’re not gonna wanna get outta bed. It’s like your bodies are gonna try to make up for all the time you’ve been apart in a single week. And given that your Sense is taste, there’s probably going to be a lot of licking.”

“Wha..?” Steve could only blink at him.

“Really?” Clint sounded delighted.

“Blurh?” Steve thought he may have said.

_“Really?”_ Natasha also sounded delighted.

“And chafing,” Sam added with glee.

“Ch-chafing?” Steve may have stammered.

“So. Much. Chafing.” Sam continued. “Man, when me and Riley first got together, I don’t think we even made it out of his room once except to piss and grab something to eat. Just, you know, consent is important, even between soulmates, _especially between soulmates_ , so try to remember that,” Sam paused to shrug, but it was an evil shrug. “ _Before_ you shove your tongue down his throat.” _Definitely_ evil.

“Or up his ass,” Maria spoke up for the first time.

“Maybe it’ll be Bucky shoving his tongue up Steve’s ass,” Natasha suggested _(not)_ helpfully. How Steve didn’t end up crushing his cell, he’d never know.

“That was an image I did not need,” Tony muttered.

“I think it’s kind of sweet.” Had that actually been Pepper? Steve was going to die.

“Seriously Steve?” Apparently Sam wasn’t done trying to see if Steve’s heart could stop from embarrassment yet. “In all your research, didn’t you come across any reference to SMSW?”

Steve had, but as the acronym didn’t seem important, he’d ignored all the links.

“SMSW?” Bruce asked, proving Steve wasn’t the only one who had no idea what Sam was talking about.

“Soul-Mate-Sex-Week?” Sam was kind enough to clarify.

“Is that like that Spring Break thing all the college kids in America go down to Florida for?” Wanda asked. And oh god, Wanda was here too, and she wasn’t a child, far from it, but Steve _did_ view her as a little sister, and he did not need to be talking about his sex life in front of his little sister.

“Kinda,” Sam shrugged, before his expression grew serious. “It _is_ real though. Your souls have already been bound by the Fates, and those first seven days are the time it takes for your bodies to catch up. It has something to do with biorhythms and your nervous system needing the chance to synch up.”

“Really? I’ve never heard anything about that.” Bruce sounded curious, way too curious for Steve’s comfort.

“Well,” Sam shrugged again. “To use Steve’s favorite words, it _is_ private. A very private and intense experience only soulmates ever really get to share.”

“Huh. Fascinating. So little is known about the bond between soulmates, but if Steve brought Bucky back to the Tower for those days, maybe we could have JARVIS- _OW PEPPER! Did you just hit me?_ ”

“ _Bruce!_ ” Pepper snapped, hitting Bruce again with her shoe. “Are you actually suggesting JARVIS record Steve having sex with Bucky?”

“It’s just for scie- _OW!_ ”

Pepper was still Steve’s favorite person in the entire Tower, always looking out for everyone’s well-being, in spite of how busy she was with her day to day responsibilities. It had been Pepper who assured Steve his privacy would be respected after their lunch at _Casa de Sabor_ , especially from Tony. When Steve, not meaning to doubt her but finding it hard to believe anyone could stop Tony from doing something, especially if it meant embarrassing Steve, asked her how, she calmly responded, _‘Oh, I had JARIVS lock him out of his labs for the next three days. If he does it again, I told him it would be three weeks next time,’_ while Tony whimpered in the corner. She reminded him of Peggy sometimes, and Steve really was crazy about her.

“We will not be recording anybody’s sex life in this Tower, even if it is for science, do you all understand me? And by we, I mean Tony and Bruce.”

“Aw, c’mon Pep-“ Her glare cut Tony off mid-word. “Right, right, no recording.”

Pepper nodded her approval before turning her beautiful smile towards Steve. “Don’t worry about it Steve, I’ll make sure everybody here respects your privacy. However,” _Uh-oh._ “If you let me know which lube is your favorite, I’ll have JARVIS place an order to make sure you won’t have to worry about running out. Maybe ask Bucky if he has a preference?”

Steve was going to die.

“Oh, and Steve?” Sam wasn’t done poking his corpse with a stick just yet.

“Yeah?” Steve somehow managed to whimper.

“After those seven days? The sex only gets better.”

And now Steve was dead.

***

The thing of it was, Steve wasn’t a prude. As he’d told Natasha that day she took him for Russian food, he loved sex, he really, really did. And he was no virgin. He had lived in a gay neighborhood prior to the war, and visited plenty of clubs where his slight frame and blond hair garnered him plenty of attention. After the serum, and during the war, well, there had been what he was sure were unintended advantages to his new body, and while he needed to be discrete, he had always been able to find willing partners. And he was certain there were things he had seen and done that would probably make even Natasha blush.

But he’d never had a long-term lover before, someone’s body he would learn the ins and outs of better than his own, their skin a map of intimacy for him to explore. And that’s what Bucky was meant to be, to become, someone whose sighs and whispers of pleasure Steve would be able to make out even beneath the roar of a crowd. If, _and only if_ , Bucky wanted to. Steve would still check, ask, because Sam was right; soulmates or not, consent was always important. But Bucky had been the one to bring up that he was an out gay man during their first conversation, leading Steve to believe sex was something Bucky would definitely be interested in. Which, well, Steve could admit he was more than happy about.

However, Steve hadn’t known about their supposed upcoming orgy week until Sam mentioned it, but now that he _did_ know, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. All the time. Usually with a stupid grin on his face. Still, just because he knew about it didn’t mean Bucky did. Their conversations, while pretty constant at this point, were mostly platonic, and Bucky certainly hadn’t brought up anything sexual in any of them. So Steve, being the brilliant strategist he was, decided to test the waters, which led to their most recent exchange.

**Steve:** _So, have you heard about **SEX WEEK**?_

**Bucky:** _WTF????_

**Steve:** _Sex Week. Or SMSW. Did you know about it? I didn’t at first, until Sam mentioned it. But apparently it’s a thing._

Steve had to admit he was pretty proud of how quickly he was now able to type on his phone’s small touchscreen; ever since he’d been texting Bucky his speed had drastically improved, to the point where Tony started grumbling how Steve had turned into a ‘ _damned Millennial’ (whatever that meant)_ whenever he saw Steve doing it. 

**Bucky:** _Are you asking me about sex?_

**Steve:** _No._

**Steve:** _I mean kind of? I’m asking about your feelings on Sex Week. Have you heard of it?_

**Bucky:** _Yes._

**Steve:** _And?_

Honestly, Bucky could be so frustrating sometimes.

**Bucky:** _Do you need me to explain the birds and the bees to you? Cos I don’t know if I can handle giving the So Your Body Is Going Through Some Changes speech to Captain America._

**Steve:** _Ha ha. And I know all about changing bodies. Captain America, remember?_

**Bucky:** _OK_

**Steve:** _And I’m no virgin._

**Bucky:** _OK_

**Steve:** _So?_

**Bucky:** _So?_

**Steve:** _SEX WEEK?_

**Bucky:** _I’m going to bed._

**Steve:** _Do you not like sex?_

**Steve:** _It’s OK if you don’t. I didn’t mean to assume._

**Bucky:** _I like sex just fine._

**Steve:** _A lot?_

**Bucky:** _A lot._

**Steve:** _Good. Me too. **smiling emojis**_

**Bucky:** _OK?_

**Steve:** _So, sex week? Ideas? Plans?_

Steve paused for just a second before he began typing again.

**Steve:** _Favorite type of lube? There are so many now. So much better than the Vaseline we had when I was growing up. Definitely a perk of the 21 st Century. **eggplant emojis**_

There was no response.

**Steve:** _Are you still there?_

**Bucky:** _Yes_

**Bucky:** _And I now know that Captain America used to jerk off with Vaseline._

**Steve:** _And other things too. **smiling emojis**_

**Bucky:** _Right. And “other things” too._

**Steve:** _A lot. **smiling emojis**_

Silence.

**Steve:** _What other things do you like?_

**Bucky:** _I AM NOT SEXTING CAPTAIN AMERICA!!!!!!_

Steve grinned. He hadn’t thought of that, but it did have some possibilities. But first…

**Steve:** _What about Steve Rogers? Would you sext with him?_

When Bucky didn’t reply, Steve took a moment to reconsider their conversation; given Bucky’s hesitancy, when he was usually so quick to respond, he decided a slight course correction might be needed.

**Steve:** _I’m not trying to force you into anything. I wouldn’t do that. I’m just curious._

**Bucky:** _I know._

**Steve:** _And just so you know, I’m pretty flexible. I like just about anything._

It took Bucky a minute to respond, but not as long as he previously had during this conversation.

**Bucky:** _Me too._

**Steve:** _And I’m clean. Can’t get anything because of the serum, in case you were wondering. Thought you should know that._

**Bucky:** _OK_

Steve wished he could hear Bucky’s voice at that moment, to give him a better sense of exactly what was running through his mind. It would be so much easier if they were in the same room so he could see for himself how Bucky was reacting, witness all the miniscule changes in his body, his breathing, his heartrate, that would tell Steve even more than his words were. He was wondering if he should suggest them meeting again when his phone dinged with another alert.

**Bucky:** _Me too. And there hasn’t been anyone else since I got this back._

Included was an attachment, that when Steve opened it revealed the results of a blood screening for STDs. The name and any identifying information was blacked out, but from what Steve read the results were all negative. Steve couldn’t help his inward sigh of relief; it wouldn’t have mattered to him if Bucky had health considerations, he was more than willing to work around that. But it was an undeniable relief to know he was healthy, a concern Steve wasn’t aware he had until he read the proof of it.

**Bucky:** _I got tested about a week after my Grey Space started to itch. And like I said, there’s been no one since._

That was kind of him. But then again, for all his snark, Bucky had proved time and time again he was a considerate person. Steve smiled.

**Steve:** _So no condoms then?_

Bucky was back to being silent.

**Steve:** _I mean I don’t mind them. But you know, sex is messy. It’s one of the best parts about it, don’t you think?_

**Bucky:** _OMG_

**Steve:** _And I really, REALLY miss sex. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had any?_

**Bucky:** _OMG_

Steve was getting on a roll.

**Steve:** _And I’m flexible, like I said, but you know I really miss getting my brains fucked out._

**Bucky:** _I’m going to bed now._

***

So that was certainly interesting. It seemed as if Bucky, while sharp and funny and more than willing to verbally spar with Steve, usually holding the upper hand while they chatted, especially if it was about food, grew a bit flustered when it came to talking about sex. Steve wondered at it, he couldn’t help but not, when Bucky was so frank about everything else. Perhaps sex was a topic he was uncomfortable with? Or he was just shy, maybe even a bit prudish about such things? The more Steve thought about it, the more those answers didn’t feel quite right to him, especially when Bucky had no problem informing Steve he was an out gay man during their very first conversation. Maybe, like Steve, he just felt that certain things were private. But they _were_ soulmates, and from their latest round of texts, Bucky was thinking about having sex with him. So why didn’t he at least want to talk about it?

Maybe…maybe he was intimidated by the idea of having sex with Steve? Steve supposed he could understand that. He was aware of what he looked like, of how it changed people’s perceptions of him, and read a lot of what had been written about his appearance, especially online. _(He most certainly knew what a thirst tweet was by now.)_ He wondered if Bucky would be able to understand, if anyone truly could, how sometimes he was still surprised by his own body every once in a while when he caught his reflection out of the corner of his eye, and saw six feet and three inches of over two hundred pounds of muscle, instead of the tiny, skinny lanky body he had grown up with. Or how, with the exception of Thor, he was now almost always the tallest person whenever he walked into a crowded room. Or all the ways people, both men and women, seemed to think it was perfectly acceptable to try and grope him when they asked for a photo. It pissed him off, and was another reason why he seldom left the Tower without a baseball cap and dark sunglasses to conceal his face.

Still, it was a good body; strong, and more importantly, healthy and pain-free, and Steve would never be able to thank Dr. Erskine enough for that alone. And, if Steve was being objective and looked at it solely from an artistic perspective, it was a very nice body. A very, _very_ nice body. And maybe, just maybe, he could use that to his advantage, especially since he was still going through an entire bottle of antacids a week because of Bucky’s endless love of spicy food. Bucky already knew who he was, what he looked like, so it wasn’t as if he’d be crossing a line, right? If Bucky wanted hot, well, Steve would give him hot, and maybe for the first time be the one with the upper hand for a change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This extra chapter is dedicated to my beloved LilliannaAnsalla, and posted a day early because today is a very special day for her. You have always been nothing but kind and supportive, and I hope you know I love you with all of my heart. I wish I could give you more, but if nothing else, hopefully this will bring a smile to your face. Never stop being you. 
> 
> 💖💖💖💖
> 
> ETA: I have received several comments on this chapter where people have said that Steve's behavior has made them uncomfortable. Just to make it clear, in case it wasn't, Steve really is just teasing Bucky. If at any point Bucky had said "No", "Please stop," or "This conversation is making me uncomfortable," or if Steve had sensed any sort of distress or upset coming through their bond, Steve would have IMMEDIATELY stopped. He would never do anything to violate Bucky's boundaries. He really was just engaging in what he thought was a bit of playful banter, and nothing more. I apologize if this chapter, or Steve's actions, made any you uncomfortable. That was not my intent, and I apologize profusely if it did. Bucky is not uncomfortable or offended by Steve's texts. He, just like everyone else, has grown up with a particular image of Captain America. And while he knows his soulmate is Steve Rogers and not Captain America, it does involve a bit of a perspective shift that has caught him off guard. 
> 
> Again, I apologize PROFUSELY if this has made anyone uncomfortable. This was not my intent. 
> 
> This story is titled How to FUCK With Your Soulmate, and that's what Bucky and Steve are doing. Playfully fucking with each other via their Sense and texts, and they are each enjoying the experience. However, several comments have indicated that this might now be coming through in the narrative. Again, I apologize for that. This is supposed to be a fun and silly story, intended to make the reader laugh, smile and/or giggle. I intended to post the next chapter tomorrow (Tuesday), but there may be a break as I look over the rest of the story to make sure it's an inoffensive as possible. 
> 
> Once again, I apologize for any upset, as that wasn't my intent, and I hope all of you and yours are safe, happy and healthy during a very crazy time. Thank you.


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER NOTES**

_This chapter continues in the same vein as the previous one, only this time the messages also include photos. It is meant in the spirit of fun, and neither parties are offended, but I wanted to give everyone reading this the ability to keep themselves safe. Please take care and be kind to yourselves._

**Steve:** _**attached image, reflection taken in a mirror of himself wearing a pair of blue and white track pants, and an extra tight white t-shirt** Heading out for a run with Sam this morning. Won’t be able to chat for the next hour or so. Text you when I’m done._

**Bucky:** _OK_

**Steve (an hour later):** _**attached image of himself in the same outfit, with flushed cheeks and wet hair, his damp shirt now clinging to his muscles** Back. What are we having for breakfast?_

No response.

***

**Steve:** _**attached image of his torso in a fitted red tank top, revealing his shoulders, collarbones, upper arms and pectorals**_

**Steve:** _**attached image of his torso in a fitted black tank top, revealing same as previous photo**_

**Steve:** _Which do you think works better for a night of pool?_

**Bucky:** _Both…both are good?_

**Steve:** _**attached image of himself grinning at the camera** Well, you’re certainly easy to please._

No response.

***

**Steve:** _**attached imagine of an extreme close-up of his pec, with a small discoloration above his very pert nipple, dripping with condensation** Rough training session today. Got a bit beat up. Used ice to help with the swelling._

Again, there was no response. But through his Sense, Steve could tell that Bucky was now taking big gulps of cold water. Lots and lots of them.

***

It had been hard at first, deciding which photos to not only take, but send to Bucky as well. And there were plenty of shots of Steve looking like a constipated cow which he quickly deleted. But the internet was a wondrous invention, where Steve could find information on anything he could possibly imagine, and after watching a few tutorials on YouTube, the quality of his pictures definitely improved. And Steve had to admit he was enjoying it; it was definitely having an effect as well, if Bucky’s non-response responses were anything to go by. He figured as long as he kept it interesting and upped the ante with each photo, Bucky would eventually stop being so stubborn and finally agree to meet.

Of course, Steve did have some help, which was probably considered cheating, but then again all was fair in love and war, and Steve was tired of waiting. And Natasha _(because of course it would be Natasha who cottoned on to what he was doing)_ was more than happy to help once she figured it out and interrogated him.

“Is it working?” she asked, materializing behind Steve as he stood in the gym in his workout clothes trying to find the most flattering angle.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Steve didn’t jump in the air, nearly dropping his phone. _He didn’t._

“Oh please.” She rolled her eyes at him. “Either you’ve signed up for Grindr, or you’ve decided to start playing dirty.”

“I hate to admit I know that reference,” Steve sighed. “And yeah, I’m getting pretty tired of waiting.”

“Has he posted anything you’ve sent him publicly?” she pressed.

“Nope.” Steve hated that she asked, even if he understood her reasoning. He didn’t think Bucky would post the pictures anywhere anyone else could see them, but he still had JARVIS run a check. True to his instincts, Bucky was respecting Steve’s privacy.

“Right then,” she snatched the phone from his hands. “Lie down on that bench, and pick up one of those barbells. The heaviest one you can. Let’s show him what you’re capable of.”

***

**Steve:** _**attached image of himself lying on a workout bench, muscles bulging, a five-hundred-pound barbell resting easily in his hands** Good work out today. Do you like to work out?_

No direct response, but Steve could definitely feel a choking sensation coming through his Sense.

***

“Here. Undo your collar just a little, no, a little more, lean back and close your eyes,” Natasha instructed.

“Why?” The day’s mission had been brief, but brutal, the arms dealers well prepared. They’d been victorious, managing to subdue them within a few hours, but Steve had taken a nasty hit to the face with a lead pipe, and while nothing was broken, he was definitely bruised.

“Maybe he likes a bit of rough trade,” Natasha shrugged, taking the phone from Steve’s outstretched hand. “And right now, you look like you’d give as good as you get.”

“What the hell are you doing now?” Sam groaned from behind his hands.

***

_You OK?_ was Bucky’s almost immediately response to the close-up Steve sent him five minutes later. Even Steve had to admit the photo had been a good one; for all her interference, Natasha certainly knew how to take a striking picture, and the extreme close-up of Steve’s upper chest and face, while not revealing anything else, had both a stark and erotic element to it.

**Steve:** _Fine. Rough mission. But OK. On my way home now. Probably going to need some help getting out of the uniform. Know anyone who might be interested in volunteering? **winking emoji**_

No response.

***

“Why do you want me to cover up with the towel? He’s going to think I’m naked if you take the picture that way.” The afternoon was hot and humid, a scorching August day, perfect for lounging around the infinity pool on Tony’s private rooftop patio.

“But you’re not,” Natasha adjusted Steve’s beach towel just so around his hips, so it completely concealed the swim trunks he was wearing beneath its folds. “If he thinks you’re sunbathing naked then that’s his fault for making assumptions, not yours.”

“Fine. Just don’t make me look cheap.”

“Of course not,” she scoffed. “Now cross your legs at the ankles and bite your lips so they look plump and juicy. Just like that.”

“Y’all need to find Jesus,” Sam grumbled from his own deckchair while Tony begged Pepper to _please, please, please just let him have one drink_.

***

**Steve:** _**attached image of Steve lying on his back in the sun, his body glistening with suntan oil, his arms behind his head, and his lips looking very, very pouty** I love lazy summer days, don’t you? Perfect for getting all hot and sweaty._

No response, but again there was a sensation of Bucky quickly gulping down something icy cold.

***

All in all, Steve thought _Operation Fuck with Bucky So He Fucks Me_ was going well. They weren’t conversing as much as they had been, but Steve could sense a definite reaction. Either Bucky was going to break, or he would retaliate, and Steve honestly couldn’t decide which he was looking forward to more. Either way, it didn’t matter, since with Natasha’s help he knew he could keep doing this for as long as he needed until he got a response, any response, from Bucky.

“Oooh, sausages for dinner,” Natasha crooned as soon as she joined them at the dining room table in the common area. “Steve, pick one up and put it in your mouth so the end is pushing your cheek out. Let’s show him you know how to handle your meat.”

_“Please don’t,”_ both Tony and Sam begged. It was the first time Steve ever heard them agree on anything.

“This is all your fault, you know,” Bruce turned on Sam.

“My fault? How in the hell is any of this my fault?” Sam demanded to know, while Steve did as Natasha instructed and put a healthy portion of sausage in his mouth.

“Aw sausage, no,” Clint whined.

“You were the one who told him about the sex week!” Bruce exclaimed. “And you need to make them stop. It’s confusing the Big Green Guy!”

“I don’t mind,” Steve could hear the smile in Maria’s voice, matching his own as he winked at the camera.

“I think it’s kind of sweet,” Pepper added.

“Sweet? Sweet?” Tony turned to her with wide, horrified eyes. “He’s now molesting meat at the dinner table!”

“But he’s doing it for love,” Pepper sighed just as Natasha handed Steve his phone with the latest picture still on the screen.

**Steve:** _**attached image of himself with a very obvious bulge in his left cheek** I just love a good mouthful of sausage. Don’t you?_

“He’s doing it to give me ulcers! Or make me go blind! Hysterical blindness is a thing, you know! It’s still a thing, right?”

“Stop being such a drama queen, Tony,” Natasha scolded, sitting down and spreading a napkin over her lap before reaching for her own helping of sausage. “We’ve all already seen your sex videos on the web.”

“Boring,” Maria sing-songed.

“There were _not_ boring! And that was different!” Tony tried to argue.

“How is that any different?” Maria demanded.

“Because it’s me! People want to see _my_ sex tapes!” Tony continued. “Nobody wants to know Captain America can deep throat! Just oh my god!”

“Says you,” Natasha scoffed.

“I’m sure Bucky likes knowing that,” Maria added evilly.

“Please Pepper, I’m begging you. One drink, just one drink. _Please._ ”

Steve would have laughed, would have crowed in revenge for all Tony had put him through, except at that exact moment his phone lit up with an incoming response.

“That was fast,” Natasha murmured in approval, while Tony continued rambling in the background. Steve would have agreed; it was the fastest Bucky had ever responded to one of his most recent messages, and he couldn’t wait to see what he’d written.

And then he read the actual text, and felt all the blood drain from his face.

**Bucky:** _Hello Captain Rogers. This is Bucky’s mother. And while everyone appreciates all that you’ve done and continue to do for this world, there are some rules you will need to follow if you are to become a part of this family. One of the first, and most important ones is we do NOT use our phones or text other people during dinnertime. Dinnertime is for family, not sexting. I’m sure your mother, seeing as how she raised such a fine young man as yourself, would agree with me and be ashamed of your manners._

Oh god. Oh no, oh god, _ohnoohnoohnoohno._

“Steve, what is it? You’ve actually gone grey,” Natasha asked as Steve fumbled through typing out a response. It was extremely difficult to do with his shoulders hunched up by his ears as they were.

**Steve:** _Yes Ma’am. I’m so sorry Ma’am. It won’t happen again Ma’am._

“What did he say?” It was hard to make out Maria’s voice over the pounding in his ears.

“It’s not him,” Steve croaked.

**Bucky:** _Apology accepted._

“Who is it?” Pepper wanted to know.

“It’s his mother.”

Steve was going to die.

**Bucky:** _Now enjoy the rest of your sausage._

***

Ten minutes later, Steve had his head between his knees and was trying very hard not to hyperventilate while Sam and Tony continued to cackle, when his phone chimed with a new alert.

“Oh god,” he whimpered, afraid of what he was going to read.

**Bucky:** _Do not listen to her. I like thephtos. Yur tits lookvery nice. Can I squish them?_

“Oh god.”

***

_“O bachan!”_

“What?”

“Gimme back my phone!”

“You’re no fun. You must have gotten that from your father’s side of the family, because I know we didn’t raise a prude.”

“Nope. I’m sorry Okasaan Vera. You know I love your cooking, but…Nope!”

***

**_Fifteen minutes later…_ **

**Bucky:** _Hate to agree with oldhag about anthing, but she’s ri8ght. Thseare some mighty fine tits. Do you weer bra to keep them that perky?_

***

_“Pappi!”_

“What? Look at them! Even I want to suck those nips!”

“I really need to move out of the basement. Maybe to Queens. Or Staten Island.”

“Please take me with you when you go Jonesie. I’m begging you. Please.”

***

“So…no more pics then?” Sam asked, looking down at Steve lying on his back on the floor, a cool, damp towel covering his face. Steve didn’t have to see his expression to know he was smirking at him. _The jerk._ Why were they friends again?

“No. No more pics.”

“Thank god.”

***

Steve was trying to kill him. The asshole, jerk-head, pig-fucking, with, yeah, okay, a really, _really_ nice body _(‘cos DAMN, those pecs!)_ , but still shithead of a soulmate, was trying to kill him, and using _(seriously sexy but still awful)_ photos of himself to do it. Bucky had spent years in the desert during his time in the army, and he couldn’t remember ever being as thirsty as he’d been during the past week, when Steve obviously decided to change tactics and sexy-self-pic Bucky to death. Bucky had walked around with his phone constantly clenched in his hand, and his dick at half _(full)_ mast, which made working with Mr. Desphande, a seventy-nine-year-old client from India, interesting to say the least. Bucky was going to strangle Steve to death when they finally did meet. _(Or fall to his knees and suck his dick, he hadn’t decided yet.)_ But still, seriously? This was what his life was reduced to? Was Steve going to send him a dick pic next? _(Bucky really, kinda hoped Steve sent him a dick pic next)_.

To top it all off, Steve had finally gone too far and sent him one of his _(sexy)_ selfies while Bucky was eating dinner with his family, and Bucky, in a fit of desperation _(and thirst)_ , had reached for his phone without thinking, breaking one of the Moms’ hardcore rules about dinnertime. Before he’d been able to take even a quick peek at the image, Vera sighed and held out her hand. Knowing that sigh, and what would follow if he didn’t obey, Bucky meekly passed his phone over. And then wanted to crawl into a hole in the ground and die when Vera viewed the picture and started typing out a response.

It had only gotten worse when Yua somehow managed to get her hands on his phone, traumatizing Jimmie, followed by Leo. Hunter had been drawn to the table by all the racket, with Hope close behind, and that led to Gabe and Bucky chasing her all around the house in an attempt to retrieve Bucky’s cell from her mouth _(thank god for his waterproof case)_. Chaos quickly ensued, so all in all it was a typical family meal, but Bucky was still mortified, and half tempted to flush his phone down the toilet when it vibrated with a message three hours later.

**Steve:** _So, um, I’m really sorry about that. Please apologize to your mom. She was never meant to see that. And she was right. My mother did raise me better than that._

**Bucky:** _We will never speak of this again._

**Steve:** _Agreed._

***

And so forever ended _Operation Fuck with Bucky So He Fucks Me._

Natasha, Maria and Pepper were very disappointed.

So was Yua, and quite honestly, Leo as well.

Gabe had started to seriously look for a two-bedroom apartment in Queens.

Bucky was just glad the whole thing was over. _(He kept the photos. He wasn’t stupid, and those were some really great photos. He did change the passcode on his phone though.)_

Steve still wanted to die.

And nobody knew where Jimmie went. He still hadn’t come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There has been some new art added to the end of chapter 6. Please take a look for yourselves to see how much the AMAZING Mags has outdone herself. She really is an unbelievably talented artist, and I was so lucky I got the opportunity to work with her on this story. =)


	13. Chapter 13

Bucky sighed, looked up from his laptop screen and rubbed his eyes. He was exhausted, his shoulders and neck ached, and for one of the few times in his life, he wasn’t hungry. Bucky didn’t have to schedule an appointment with his physician or look at the calendar to know the reason why. His body was reminding him of what his mind refused to acknowledge until the last minute, even if it happened every year.

It was going to be a rough week, not only for him but for Jimmie and Gabe as well. The anniversary of George, Winifred and Rebecca’s death, the unavoidable beginning of a downward spiral, one he not only had to accept, but brace himself for. It wouldn’t last for too long, and he had better tools to help him deal with it, including an extra appointment with his therapist, and the awareness, love and support of his family, but it was still going to be a brutal week. He had been told by everyone around him that it was okay, he was allowed to mourn and grieve for his family, but their loss still fucking hurt.

It was even more complicated now he had found and made contact with his soulmate. Steve was proving to be a great guy, when he wasn’t trying to kill Bucky with his sexy selfies, and would more than likely be very understanding. But Bucky was going to be a mess for at least the next seven days, if not more, and it wouldn’t be fair to place that kind of emotional burden on someone who didn’t really know him, not really, so early in their relationship. Still, Steve was going to wonder why Bucky had gone radio silent, when they usually chatted over the course of the day, and probably worry. Bucky knew himself well enough to know he wasn’t going to have the energy, mental or otherwise, for anything but trying to keep his shit together, and Steve deserved better than to think he was being abandoned. So Bucky sighed again, picked up his phone, and in spite of the time, decided to send Steve a text.

**Bucky:** _Hey, sorry to bug you so late, but I just wanted to let you know you’re probably not going to hear from me for the upcoming week._

Steve replied almost instantly.

**Steve:** _Not a problem. Work thing?_

**Bucky:** _Not work. Personal. Not you. Just need some time._

**Steve:** _Is there anything I can do?_

_Not unless you can bring my parents and baby sister back from the dead,_ Bucky almost, _almost_ typed, but that wouldn’t be fair to Steve. It wasn’t his fault, and he was trying to be supportive. After a moment of careful deliberation, Bucky decided to repay his kindness with honesty.

**Bucky:** _It’s the anniversary of my parents and sister’s death this week. It’s a hard one for me. Won’t be up for texting. Wanted to let you know so you won’t worry._

**Steve:** _Are you sure you don’t want me to be there for you? You shouldn’t be alone, and I can put everything else on hold if you need me to._

**Bucky:** _Won’t be alone. The rest of the fam will be with me. Just wanted to give you a head’s up._

**Steve:** _Are you sure? If you need me to, I can be there._

**Bucky:** _Thanks for the offer Stevie, but no. I’ll be fine. Just didn’t want you to worry. Talk to you in a couple of days OK?_

**Steve:** _OK. But I am here, if you decide to change your mind._

**Bucky:** _Thanks. Goodnight._

**Steve:** _Goodnight._

Bucky sighed and tossed his phone down onto the table. So that was that then, the easy part taken care of. Now he just had to deal with the rest of it. And _that_ wasn’t going to be easy at all.

***

Steve was worried. Of course he was. In spite of Bucky’s words and assurances he would be fine, knowing that not only was he going to be suffering, but that Steve would have no way of contacting him until Bucky reached out again was driving him crazy. Bucky had been unbelievably kind and supportive whenever he’d sensed there was something Steve needed, and Steve wanted Bucky to know, without a shadow of a doubt, he was just as determined and more than willing to take his turn carrying some of Bucky’s weight when their roles were reversed. All joking, and horrendous and embarrassing mistakes aside, a soulmate bond was never meant to be one-sided, and while Steve’s life was sometimes very demanding of both his time and energy, in his bones and his blood he knew there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for Bucky if Bucky needed him.

And the silence, as it progressed from one day to two to five, quickly became unbearable. Not just on his phone, but through that other sense, that wasn’t one of the five senses, or even their shared Sense, but a feeling of having someone else’s soul touching your own, as soft as a kiss, as light and incandescent as a first snowflake, always there with you, their heart the other half of yours. And Bucky, unlike Steve, seemed to have mastered a way of shutting off their link, locking it down tight when he felt there was a need, leaving Steve feeling as cold and desolate as he had when he’d been trapped in the ice.

He hated it.

But there was nothing he could do. Bucky had let him know this was coming, told him not to worry, and asked Steve to respect his privacy. Steve didn’t know which choice would make him the better soulmate; respecting Bucky’s autonomy, or being there for him when it was obvious he was in pain. He couldn’t even ask Sam for advice, because he knew this, more than anything else, was something Bucky would not want him sharing with someone he didn’t know personally.

In the end, Steve decided to split the difference. While he couldn’t escape his worry, he could still let Bucky know he was there for him, was trying to be supportive while still respecting Bucky’s request for privacy. He returned to using the camera app on his phone, not to send photos of himself, but pictures of small things, every day things, pretty things, that didn’t require a response, but he hoped let Bucky know he was thinking of him.

A picture of a sunrise, from the rooftop deck of the Tower, the clouds bathed in golds and purples.

One of a brown and grey dog, a fluffy little thing with a silly face, Steve snapped at the end of his morning run with Sam.

A cupcake topped with delicate pink icing and silver beads, with strawberry jam that Steve picked up from a local coffee shop on his way back from lunch.

A blue hat, covered in peacock feathers, he spied a very stylish woman walking down Fifth Avenue wearing.

A pigeon brave enough to steal a french fry from a lunch he shared with Natasha in Washington Square Park.

Little things, small things, things Steve prayed made Bucky smile while letting him know he was being thought of, worried over, cared for in his time of need. Not much, but hopefully enough to help Bucky get through what Steve knew for himself could be a devastating grief.

From his side of the bond, Bucky remained mostly silent, except for every now and then, usually not too long after Steve sent one of his photos, there would be a small pulse, a half-felt heartbeat, a tiny shivering sigh, letting Steve know his messages were being received.

Until the sixth day, six days too long in Steve’s opinion, he got his first Sense from Bucky, and found himself frowning.

It wasn’t Bucky’s usually spicy food, or some intricate and savory seafood dish, but the stinging scald of alcohol. While Steve had never been much of a drinker before the serum, and avoided it now since it had no effect on him what-so-ever, he knew what liquor tasted like. And this, this wasn’t beer or wine, but the hard stuff, whiskey, vodka, scotch, burning the back of his throat. A hell of a lot of it too, combined with the familiar bitter smokiness of cigarettes, that never seemed to end.

That’s when Steve began to grow nervous. He knew Bucky well enough by now to know that while he occasionally enjoyed a glass of beer of wine with a meal, or something just a little stronger, usually when Bucky had gone out to dinner with a client, he wasn’t a big drinker. He also wasn’t a heavy smoker; like he’d told Sam, Bucky tended to enjoy a cigarette first thing in the morning and late at night right before bed, with maybe another one sometime during the day. But this was unusual for him. As one hour stretched into two, and the taste of booze continued to flood Steve’s mouth, he started to worry. From what Steve could tell, it was a lot of liquor, more than what could possibly be considered safe for an average adult male. His concern turned into nervousness turned into fear, and that fear overrode any promise he’d made to himself or Bucky about respecting his soulmate’s privacy as he reached for his phone to send Bucky a message.

**Steve:** _Hey, I know you said not to worry, but I just thought I’d check in and see how you’re doing._

**Steve:** _Sorry to bug you again, but my Sense is going crazy, and I just want to make sure you’re alright. Do you need me to pick you up from someplace?_

**Steve:** _Are you still there? Can you please answer me? I’m really starting to worry._

**Steve:** _Bucky, can you please check in? If you don’t answer me, I’m going to have JARVIS run a trace on your phone. Can you please just let me know you’re OK?_

After his fourth text in a little under an hour, Steve finally received a response.

**Bucky:** _He’s fine. Stop your worrying. He needs this. Let him be._

**Steve:** _Who’s this? Is this his mom? Is he OK?_

**Bucky:** _It’s not his mom. I’m his brother, or one of them anyway, a later addition, but that don’t mean it’s not true._

That was definitely a relief, although Steve couldn’t help but wonder just how big Bucky’s family was. How many brothers did he have?

**Bucky:** _And he’s OK. I pulled designated driver duty tonight, but we’re all here keeping an eye on him, J and G. This week’s been rough on them, they need the break._

_J_ and _G_? Who were they? And while Steve was grateful Bucky wasn’t alone, he couldn’t help but wonder who Bucky had decided was trustworthy enough to keep watch while he shut Steve out. But then again, who was he to judge when in reality he knew so little about Bucky’s day-to-day life and family situation. Steve drummed his fingertips over the top of his thigh, thinking for a moment, before he typed his next response.

**Steve:** _Bucky told me about this week. What it’s the anniversary of. I don’t know if you know who I am, but I can tell Bucky’s been drinking a lot tonight, and I was worried, and wanted to let him know I’m here if he needs me._

**Bucky:** _I know exactly who you are, Captain Rogers. More importantly, I know what you are to Bucky. And while I get that you’re worried, this doesn’t concern you until Bucky says it does._

Okay…That certainly wasn’t the reaction Steve was expecting, and Steve was starting to feel anger rising up among all his concern.

**Steve:** _And you are?_

**Bucky:** _I’m one of the people who knows him best. And I don’t know anything about you aside from what all the history books say, but I do know you’re one of the luckiest SOBs in the world to have him as a soulmate. There’s no better man on this planet, and any one of us would die for him. I don’t know if even you deserve him._

Whoever this was, he was certainly protective of Bucky, which, well, Steve could understand that.

**Steve:** _You don’t have to tell me. I know that about him already._

**Bucky:** _See that you always remember that and we’ll be fine._

**Steve:** _He’s really OK?_

**Bucky:** _He finally passed out. Don’t worry. He’ll be fine. We’ll make sure of it._

**Steve:** _Thank you. Can you let him know I texted? And that he can call me at 347-555-1234 if he needs anything. Anything at all._

Steve didn’t know why he hadn’t thought to give Bucky his number before, only that it suddenly seemed vitally important he have it now.

**Bucky:** _He’ll see that for himself soon enough. But the worst of it is over now. You should be hearing from him in a few days._

**Steve:** _Thanks for letting me know he’s OK._

**Bucky:** _No problem. AMF_

So that had been a strange conversation. Informative, and definitely a relief, but still strange. Bucky appeared to have a lot of people in his life who both cared for and were extremely protective of him. Steve couldn’t help feeling anything but grateful; it spoke to the kind of man his soulmate was. He also couldn’t help but wonder how they would react to him when they were finally introduced, and how long that would ultimately take.

But he had gotten what he’d wanted out of the encounter; confirmation Bucky was safe and not alone, and that someone was guarding his six, even if it wasn’t Steve. He supposed, in the end, he couldn’t ask for any more than that.

***

“Don’t bother trying to get up boy, you know better than that by now,” Pappi grumbled at him in French at too-early o’clock the next morning as he hobbled into the Jones’ kitchen, where Bucky was slouched over the table, face in his hands, Hunter and Hope at his feet. Bucky thought he might have grunted, considering Pappi grunted back as he made his way over to the refrigerator and pulled out the batter he prepared the previous evening and left to sit overnight. Pappi may have been one of the oldest people Bucky knew, and needed a cane to walk almost everywhere, but he still moved around the kitchen with an easy grace and familiarity whenever he cooked. It was comforting, a part of Bucky’s life that had always been there, mornings sitting at the kitchen table while Leo cooked, speaking to each other in French, even if he now looked down at his grandfather whenever he stood instead of craning his neck upward.

“How’s the hangover?” Pappi asked, as he slid a mugful of coffee in front of Bucky. And this too was familiar, the taste of Pappi’s coffee, bitter as spite and thick as tar, but sometimes so desperately needed.

“I’ve had worse,” Bucky mumbled after he’d taken his first sip of the black brew. That was certainly true. Bucky had never been a lightweight, able to hold his liquor better than most. But even that had changed since he’d come back from his last tour of duty. It took a hell of a lot, more than it should, for him to start feeling the effects. And his hangovers were never as bad as he remembered them once being. Truth be told, he was barely hung over at all. This was more emotional exhaustion than anything else. But no one, not even Pappi, needed to know that.

“Haven’t we all?” Pappi agreed, turning his attention to the large kettle of oil he had set to boiling. “But I ain’t talking about the booze. I’m talking about everything else.”

“Dunno,” Bucky shrugged, “guess we’ll see.”

Pappi grunted his agreement and began to carefully pour ladleful’s of batter into the bubbling oil. He was quiet as he cooked, mindful of what he was doing, even though Bucky knew he could always tell when something needed to be turned, or the temperature of the oven lowered no matter where he was in the house. As a child, Bucky believed it to be some sort of magic, fascinated by the process, and Pappi’s endless knowledge of how to prepare all of Bucky’s favorite things to eat. He still thought it magic, especially on mornings like this, when less than ten minutes later, his grandfather slid a plate full of his homemade and still steaming beignets, dusted with powdered sugar, in front of him.

“Eat those while they’re still hot. But don’t burn your tongue. They’ll keep for a minute. Let me look at you first, and see how you’re really doing.”

That was the thing about Leo; he could be a cranky and cantankerous old fuck, but he was still Bucky’s Pappi, and he never once doubted the old man’s love for him. Bucky had plenty of memories of sitting at his feet, while he, Gabe and Jimmie played with cars on the floor, Pappi watching over all three of them like a hawk. Of falling asleep against his shoulder, Gabe in his lap, Jimmie wrapped up in a bundle beneath his other arm, when it was his turn to babysit, and he allowed them to watch yet another movie none of their parents would have permitted. Of reaching up and being lifted by strong arms before he was settled onto a pair of narrow and wiry thighs while Bucky demanded, _‘Tell me the story about the gator, Pappi. It’s my favorite, tell it to me again!’_

There were newer memories too, since he’d come home from his hospital stay in Germany, suffering from PTSD, but what Pappi had always referred to as shell-shock. Of both his grandparents doing the best that they could to help him; Yua grabbing him by his arm whenever his stare grew too far away and pointing out all the sections of her small backyard garden that needed tending. Sitting in the Morita kitchen, and stuffing gyoza after gyoza with her secret pork filling. When it was Leo’s turn, being ordered to peel potatoes, until there was enough to feed an entire squadron. Or shelling peas until Bucky was convinced he’d never be able to wash the smell off his hands, but how that was still better than the scent of blood that had been haunting him for weeks. Quiet, steady, busy-work that kept him calm, kept him focused, and helped him so much in his path to recovery. Neither Yua or Leo had ever once made him feel like he wasn’t one of their grandchildren, and he would do anything, _anything_ , for either of them.

This too was a new tradition, one that started not too long after they finally came home, and began to deal with the additional grief of losing three people who had also been a vital part of their family. Bucky, Jimmie and Gabe would visit Winifred, George and Rebecca’s graves, their tears of grief turning into a river that fed the grasses surrounding them while the rest of the Howlies kept watch and guarded their backs. Followed by a night of hard drinking, that ended in even more tears until they passed out. And then a quiet morning in the kitchen, drinking bitter, bitter coffee, and eating steaming hot beignets made personally by Pappi’s own hand. Food couldn’t fix everything, but it could keep you alive long enough until you finally had enough strength to slowly begin climbing back to your feet.

“You’re looking better than you did last year. You don’t smell any better, but you look it,” Pappi declared once he was done studying Bucky’s face.

“Don’t feel like it,” Bucky muttered once he’d swallowed a mouthful of beignet dipped in coffee. They were a treat, with a light, crispy outside surrounding a warm, chewy, melt in your mouth center, the sweetness of the powdered sugar a perfect compliment to Pappi’s tar-like coffee.

“It’s always going to feel like that. It don’t ever get better,” Pappi stated simply, honestly. “But something in you gets stronger, tightens up like an old tree, so the storm doesn’t break you but you end up bending with it instead.”

“Still hurts though.”

“Like I said, it’s always gonna,” Pappi shrugged. “But all you can do it survive it, boy. What other choice do you got?”

“None.”

“Just so. But remember,” Pappi reached out and nudged Bucky’s hand with his old gnarled one, “you ain’t the only one who lost them.” Bucky stared at him. “Yeah, I know you know that here,” Leo tapped Bucky forehead with his index finger, “but I think you sometimes forget that here,” he tapped Bucky’s heart. “And that’s alright. Grief is like that. Makes us think we’re all alone. But we’re not. And your daddy was a good man, and baby Becs was all piss and vinegar, but that girl could make me laugh. And your momma, your momma had a shine to her like none I’d ever seen. I loved her like she was my own, and I cried for her, for all of them, when they passed, just the same way I did when my Flora died. Good people, gone too soon, because the Lord decided he needed them back in heaven.”

“I still needed them here.” Bucky knew there was a hiss of anger in his voice, the serpent in the garden of his grief. But just like the tree his Pappi had spoken of, Leo didn’t snap, he bent instead.

“I know you did. And it wasn’t fair. But life ain’t always fair. And don’t you think I didn’t have a few words about that with the Good Lord himself, especially when I saw the state the three of you were in when you finally came home. The Lord taketh away, but he also giveth, and your life is a gift, even though it might not seem that way sometimes. Remember that. Because I do, and I make sure to thank the Good Lord for that everyday too.”

“I’ll try,” was all Bucky could say.

“See that you do,” Leo nodded. “You got a lot to live for. And while the Lord has his reasons, so do the Fates. When are you going to get over your guilt that you’re still alive, stop this bullshit, and tie off that damned string of yours.”

“It’s not guilt!” Bucky tried to defend himself, but he knew it was a lie as soon as the words left his mouth.

Because his parents had always been so supportive of him, nothing but encouraging and as eager to meet his as of yet unknown soulmate as he’d been in his youth. He could remember multiple conversations where his mother excitedly described the plans for the party she intended to throw for their families when Bucky did finally meet him, while from over her shoulder his father shook his head and mouthed the words _‘Don’t worry, we won’t let her cook,’_ with a smile and a wink. 

And while Bucky had always known he was gay and predestined to meet someone because of the kiss the Fates had left upon his shoulder, Becca had walked a very different path, one much more complicated than his. It had taken a long time for his obnoxious, bratty baby sister to understand her own sexuality, finally confessing to him she was demisexual during one of their last Skype sessions. They had always bickered and fought like cats and dogs growing up, but Bucky was the only one she admitted that to, because he was her big brother, and she knew he would love her no matter what, and she never had to be afraid of him judging her for simply being who she was born to be.

It wasn’t guilt. It was just…How was any of it fair when his mother and father would never get to throw the party they had been planning for years? Or when Becca would never get the chance to discover if her feelings for her classmate Esila were reciprocated? Why did he get to have this, a soulmate, Steve, his own happy ending, when theirs had been cut short?

“Don’t bullshit me boy. I’m older than dirt. You think I don’t know a thing or two about guilt? Just because you’re still alive and your momma and daddy ain’t, don’t mean you don’t deserve this.” Leo reached out and swatted Bucky’s upper shoulder. “You think your family aren’t watching you from heaven, waiting for you to be with your soulmate? You think they’re ever going to be able to rest in peace until they finally know you’re with the one you were always meant to be with?”

Bucky jerked back in his seat, swallowing hard, shocked by Pappi’s words.

“I – I hadn’t thought of it like that,” he admitted when he could finally speak.

“Of course you didn’t. You’re so stupid you’ve been wasting your time trying to kill each other with cheese. That’s why you still need me to knock some sense into your thick skulls every once in a while.”

Bucky couldn’t help it; he laughed.

“Thanks Pappi,” Bucky felt himself smiling for the first time in over a week. And as he sat there, warm sunlight at his back, bitter coffee and steaming beignets at his front, he realized Leo was right. Enough was enough; it was time to stop playing games, believe he was strong enough to bend and not break from the will of the Fates, and let go of his guilt. His mother and father, all of his family, had raised him better than that. He even had Steve’s number now; he’d checked his phone after what felt like a three-hour piss, and found out Steve had been worried, checking in to make sure he was alright. And that Dum Dum, asshole that he was, had answered, reassuring Steve while simultaneously giving him the shovel talk. He really did have the best family in the world; he needed to stop spitting in the face of that.

“And I will. Once I stop smelling like booze,” he added.

“That’s going to take at least a month, smelling the way you do. How much did you boys end up drinking? You all smell like Lucifer’s piss,” Pappi snorted. Bucky loved the old fart, he really did.

“I think we smell more like his asshole,” he said.

“You would know more about that than I would,” Leo retorted just as Jimmie and Gabe stumbled into the kitchen, leaning against each other and squinting as if the sunlight were personally attacking them.

“I hate life,” Jimmie moaned.

“And she hates you too,” Leo announced, rising to his feet.

“Beignets?” Bucky thought Gabe may have mumbled.

“Of course there are.” Leo was back to being his familiar, crotchety old self. “Sit your asses down at that table, and try not to scare the dogs with your stank. Ninety-two years old or not, I’m still not too old to not turn the garden hose on your asses if that means we can all start to breathe again.”

“Okay,” Jimmie agreed, burying his face in his arms while Gabe took his own seat next to Bucky, slouching against him.

Twenty minutes later, when Vera walked into the kitchen, still in her pink bathrobe and with her hair pinned up, she paused for a moment to take in the scene of six grown men sitting at her kitchen table in various states of consciousness, slowly making their way through her father’s post-hangover feast, before she nodded in a approval.

“Morning Pop, morning boys,” she said, reaching for her own mug of coffee. Her words were met with six groans.

“Ignore them, they’re all still trying to remember which end is their mouth and which is their asshole,” Pappi grumbled at her.

“As long as they all have their pants on,” Vera answered easily enough. 

“Doubtful,” Pappi rolled his eyes. “Plans for the day?”

“Church first, to light a candle and pay my respects. Then I’m going to Lily’s to get my braids touched up. You?”

“Keeping this lot from dying of alcohol poisoning.” Leo waved his hand at the table. “And then this one’s finally going to get off his lazy ass and contact his stupid himbo of a soulmate.”

“’Bout time,” Vera turned a very arched eyebrow in Bucky’s direction.

“Really Sarge?” Monty squinted at him.

Bucky grunted at him. “Coupla days. Need to detox first. And head out to Jersey.” The mourning week wasn’t over yet. There was one last tradition, albeit a new one, they needed to complete before Bucky could finally make the most important phone call of his life.

And blowing shit up in an empty field in Jersey, especially with Jackie in charge of the explosives, was as good a way as any to say goodbye to the old and welcome in the new.

***

“Rogers,” Steve snapped into his phone, not bothering to check the number as he unpacked his groceries in his kitchen. It was three days since his last text conversation with whoever that had been on Bucky’s phone, and he still hadn’t heard from Bucky himself. From what he could tell, Bucky was doing better, and there hadn’t been a repeat of someone using alcohol to try to drown their sorrows. But other than that, as of yet their lines of communication remained silent. Steve figured he could be excused for being a bit tetchy.

“Well listen to that. Is that how you always answer your phone? I have to admit, you don’t sound anything like you do when you make one of your speeches. Gotta say, I kinda like it.”

The voice was unfamiliar, but also not. To Steve it felt as if it was as old as time, borne from his bones, made for his ears alone. The whistle his mother must have heard, the feeling of wind on his face Sam had shared with him, a taste of something spicy, with a kick, that always melted on his tongue.

“ _Bucky?_ ”

“Hey there stranger.”

“Bucky? Is it – is it really you?” In his shock, Steve dropped the carton of eggs he’d been holding onto, not noticing or caring as the shells cracked and the yolks oozed out onto his kitchen tiles.

“Yeah Stevie, it’s me.” There was a laugh in his voice, like molasses, like honey, like a secret; just as rich and just as deep, along with a slight roll to his words that whispered of Brooklyn, of home. It was a low voice, soft, smooth, and with enough of a purr to cause shivers to run up and down the length of Steve’s spine.

“Oh my god, oh my god… _It’s you._ ” Steve needed to lean against his kitchen counter to keep from falling to the floor. He had never known that joy, and not sickness, could be something that caused weakness, his knees to tremble, his heart to feel like it was going to stop beating.

For just a moment, or maybe an infinity, there was silence between them; a quiet that wasn’t quiet but filled with every promise ever made, every secret wish too sacred to speak aloud, every piece of chocolate left uneaten, saved for tomorrow, because tomorrow would be better and deserved something sweet. Steve never wanted the moment to end.

It was Bucky, _(as usual? As it forever would be?)_ who was the one to break it and carry them forward.

“So, in spite of all your questionable culinary tastes, I was thinking even you can’t argue with the classics.”

“Hey!” It may have been a protest, a laugh, a whimper. It may have been all of that, or none of it. But what it was, was filled with joy.

“How do you feel about hotdogs at Coney Island?”

“What? Now?” Steve asked.

“Whenever you’re ready.” Steve could actually hear the smile in Bucky’s voice. Yet in his next words there was the slightest shift, the first hint of what Steve could only call hesitancy. “I get that my schedule is probably more flexible than yours -“

“No, now. I can do it now,” Steve cut him off.

“Are you sure?” Bucky’s voice, _his voice_ , Steve would never get tired of hearing his voice. But he was willing to tempt even the Fates and devote an eternity to proving them wrong. Except Bucky was offering him something infinitely better, and Steve had never been one to not take an opportunity when it presented itself to him.

“I can be there in an hour,” Steve insisted.

“Right then.” And there was that laugh, that soft chuckle, caressing Steve’s back like a whisper, but rumbling through his bones, his blood, his entire nervous system like a storm. “I’ll see you at Nathan’s in an hour.”

“How will I know it’s you?” Steve’s hand was clenching his phone so tight it was a miracle it didn’t crack. Just as tight as he wanted to clutch Bucky, holding him close and never letting him go.

“I trust you’ll be able to figure it out.” Again that laugh, that laugh, _that laugh._ “I’ll see you in a bit, Stevie.”

“Yeah, you will.” But Bucky had already hung up, and Steve was left standing in his kitchen, his entire world tilted on its axis. In less than an hour he would finally, finally meet his soulmate. And then…and then…

_Holy shit! What the fuck was he going to wear?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I need to go back to hiding in my bush?
> 
> =^._.^=


	14. Chapter 14

When Tony first discovered Steve had somehow managed to locate and get his old motorcycle pulled from storage, and insisted he could modify it and make it even better than it had ever been while still respecting all its original integrity, neither of them had known, could have possibly imagined, that Steve would use that bike to cut through all of NYC’s never-ending traffic and practically zoom his way over the Belt Parkway towards his destination. Brooklyn’s landscape blurred around him, but as his bike rumbled beneath him, Steve found himself picking out enough details to remind him that while it had been over seventy years, Brooklyn was and always had been home; the shadow of the Verrazano bridge, the smell of the Narrows waterway, the silhouette of the Wonder Wheel, still as awe inspiring as it had ever been as Steve drew closer and closer to Coney Island. Steve had visited Brooklyn upon his return to the world, but never stayed long; it had been filled with too many memories, too many things lost never to be found again, and it had hurt, a pain too heavy for even his super-soldier shoulders to bear. But now Brooklyn was once again filled with potential, with hope, with a sense of coming _home_ , and it made a wonderful, blissful sense that the Fates would choose someone from there to bind him to.

Parking would be a bitch, it always was no matter where in the city you lived. But the Fates were being kind, or maybe they were as excited as Steve _(and he really couldn’t blame them)_ , and he found a space easily enough. Then he was racing over the boardwalk, his senses once again bombarded by things both familiar and not, toward the striking and never forgotten green and yellow signage of Nathan’s Hot Dogs. It was the second Tuesday of September, and most children had already returned to school for the start of the fall semester, so it wasn’t as crowded as it would have been just a week ago, but there were still too many people in Steve’s way. The day was warm, but the breeze from the Atlantic made it cool and comfortable, if every drop of Steve’s blood wasn’t boiling in anticipation, the Grey Space on his arm not itching, but throbbing, aching, hungry for something only Bucky could give. He reached Nathan’s open aired seating area, scanning the metal benches and tables for…for…until…

There.

_There._

A lone man, sitting by himself, at one of the corner tables that faced the shore. He was clean shaven, with pale skin, and long dark hair hanging just past his shoulders, that even from a distance Steve could see was kissed by a million shades of brown; a forest, a river, a waterfall of them, dancing in the winds as he carelessly tucked a stray lock behind his ear, with fingers that were slender and lean, a perfect partner for the wind that seemed to take an endless pleasure in playing with it.

Steve couldn’t wait to do the same.

He hadn’t seen Steve yet. He was staring out at the water, his posture relaxed and loose, but with an awareness of all that was going on around him; a soldier, a hunter, a wolf, that didn’t need his eyes to know when someone had strayed into his territory. There was something familiar about him, that Steve struggled to place; maybe it was the bond, or a memory, or something Steve had always known that he never knew he had, but Steve’s own body began to vibrate, reaching out for his partner, his other half, his mate.

And then the man, that solider, that hunter, that wolf, caught his scent, lifted his head and turned towards Steve.

His eyes. _His eyes._ Steve would never, ever forget those eyes. A pale grey blue. As sharp as ice, as powerful as the deepest seas, as vast and as endless as the beginning and the end of the world.

But somehow, _somehow_ , warm too. A heat in them like the first starbursts when the galaxies were born, burbling like lava as it scorched the earth, the only thing hot enough to reach out for Steve’s heart and melt all the ices he’d been buried beneath.

And then he smiled, and as Steve stood there, unable to do anything but blink, but stare, but hunger and yearn and want, he picked up a hot dog from a plate in front of him Steve hadn’t had the chance to notice, put it in his mouth, and took a bite.

Soft warm bread. Sweet, sweet relish. Spicy thick mustard with a kick that tickled Steve’s nose. The snap of the sausage casing, and then the warm rich feeling of juices and seasonings washing over Steve’s tongue was the way Bucky, his soulmate, chose to say hello. Steve would have moaned, would have fallen to his knees at the familiar symphony of it all, except he was already moving, running to chase that taste on Bucky’s lips for himself.

Bucky had risen, his arms opening, and Steve had less than half a second to notice the jerk was wearing a pale grey t-shirt with his shield emblazoned on the front, before they were crashing together, into an embrace of clenching arms and racing heartbeats.

“It’s you. It’s _you_ ,” Steve gasped into Bucky’s hair, his arms never wanting to let go.

“It better be me. Or else you’re hugging the wrong guy.” That laugh, that laugh again, even sweeter now that it brushed against his ear instead of over the phone.

“Shut up! Shut up! _Shutupshutupshutup!_ Just let me…” And then Steve reached up, grasped Bucky’s hair in his hands, and kissed him.

***

Sam had told him that when he kissed his soulmate for the first time, Steve would know and truly understand what it meant to feel joy. The world would melt away, time would stop, and nothing else would matter to him.

He was both right and wrong.

In some distant part of his mind, Steve wondered if this was what it felt like for Thor whenever he called thunder to his hands. Or Wanda, when the fires of her magic burned so brightly she could fly. But then, just as distantly, he thought even that would be nothing more than a pale shadow of what he felt right at that moment.

Kisses, especially first kisses, should probably not have tasted of hotdogs and relish, bread and mustard.

Or blood.

But it was Steve’s blood. The blood of his heart, of his soul, of every prayer ever whispered finally, _finally_ being answered. From the tips of his toes to the ends of his hair, it filled him with hope, with peace, with life, with love, beating through him because of the pulse of Bucky’s heart, feeding him, because that was their Sense, and what they had been born to do, to be, for each other.

Nourishment.

Contentment.

Safety.

Love.

The world could burn, and Steve would have laughed at it, as long as he could keep Bucky in his arms and continue to kiss him until the end of time.

***

But all good things had to end. And even super-soldiers and their soulmates needed to breathe. So eventually a moment, a year, a century later, they pulled apart, just a bit, to stare at each other, smiles on their faces.

“Why the hell did I wait this long?” was the first thing Bucky said, licking lips that Steve couldn’t help but notice were plump and pink.

“Because you’re an idiot,” Steve snapped at him, but it lacked any heat. Or at least anger.

“Yeah well, at least I know how to feed myself.” His sly, foxlike grin revealed a tooth that was slightly crooked, the tiniest of imperfections that made him even more beautiful to Steve. “And wow. Look at you. You’re even taller in person.”

“You’re pretty tall yourself.” Steve was telling the truth. Bucky was about an inch shorter than Steve, with shoulders almost as broad, and a long, lean physique that felt muscular under Steve’s hands. He had clad himself in a pair of slim fitting black jeans, well-worn combat boots, a tight fitting long sleeved cotton shirt, over which had pulled…

“I like the t-shirt. My shield looks good on you.”

“A bit obvious,” Bucky laughed, the slight crinkles at the corners of his mouth and eyes telling Steve laughter was something that came easily to him. Steve liked it. “But I figured as oblivious as you can be, you’d need all the help you could get.”

“Oh, I’m the oblivious one, am I?” They still hadn’t let each other go, were just standing there with their arms wrapped around each other.

“It took me eating a corn chop covered in the hottest pepper in the world before you noticed what was going on,” was Bucky’s response.

“And I’m still mad at you about that. Jesus Christ, I thought you were trying to kill me!”

“And you deserved it after all those damned protein shakes you forced me to taste!”

Steve was getting ready to retort, to nip, to bite back; he could already tell their relationship was going to be filled with banter, and was looking forward to it. But there was something else he needed to know first.

“What’s your name? Your real name?” he asked instead.

“To anyone who matters to me, it’s Bucky,” Bucky said, stepping out of Steve’s arms, already too far away. “But my full name is James Buchanan Barnes. It’s nice to meet you, Steven Grant Rogers,” he held his hand out to Steve, “I think I might be your soulmate.”

“I think you might be right.” Steve was reaching out to take Bucky’s hand back into his so he could pull him close again, when he was suddenly rammed into from behind, so hard he stumbled forward. He was about to turn around and tell off the asshole who wanted his autograph or a goddamned picture for his Instagram account, because _seriously?_ This was his soulmate, and he deserved five fucking minutes _(years)_ to savor the moment when anything he’d been about to say was cut off by a very loud voice.

“Five order of chili-cheese fries, six hotdogs, plain, and four orders of chicken fingers for table two!”

“ _Are you fucking kidding me?_ ” Bucky’s voice, which had been light and carefree, now sounded furious. ( _And very, very sexy,_ _Steve had to admit.)_

“We didn’t order this,” Steve turned toward the interloper, a man even taller than both him and Bucky, with the bushiest mustache Steve had ever seen, and the strangest hat on his head.

“Oh yes, yes you did! I have it right here,” the man insisted, flapping his left hand in the air before dumping a tray full of food on the table top. “Now come on, come on, sit down and eat while it’s still hot.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Bucky hissed.

“I am serving you your food! Now hurry it up, waste not, want not!” The man laid a meaty hand on Steve’s shoulder, pushing down until Steve, too shocked to do anything else, was forced to sit.

“Since when does Nathan’s have table service?” Steve asked as the man sat down next to him and began to spread the plates out in front of them.

“ _It doesn’t._ ”

“P’shaw! Don’t listen to him Steve. Bucky always gets cranky when he doesn’t eat.”

“You know this man, Bucky?” Steve asked.

“Unfortunately yes.” Bucky was scowling, his eyes turned away from the table and scanning his surroundings. “And if he’s here, that means it’s going to get a hell of a lot worse before it gets better.”

As if on cue, a second man sidled up to their table, even stranger than the first. He was short and thin, with a scrappy physique, and light brown hair, wearing a pair of dark leggings, a black and white striped shirt, and a red handkerchief tied around his neck. He had also clumsily drawn a mustache on his face, and was…pantomiming?

“Oh god,” Bucky groaned.

“What the hell is he doing?” Steve asked Bucky.

“I am ze mime!” the man answered, moving his hands as if he were opening a door, which he stepped through, before sitting down on Steve’s other side.

“A…mime?” Steve repeated.

“Oui! It iz de art of my people!” he nodded, fluttering his hands in Steve’s face.

“Your…people?” Steve was so confused.

“Oui. Ze French people.”

“You’re from Cleveland, Jackie!” Bucky snapped.

“Do not insult my culture!” Jackie was still waving his hands around in the air. “Being French, it iz of ze heart, not ze map, oui?”

“Oui,” the first man, whoever he was, agreed.

“What the hell is going -“ Steve never got the chance to finish his sentence, because at that moment a third man appeared.

“Cigars, cigarettes, cigarillos?” his British accent announced his arrival. Whoever he was, he was barely even trying to pretend he was a cigarette girl, wearing an old baggy pink house coat with orange sunflowers over his clothes as he dropped two packs of Marlboro Reds on the table and settled himself next to the first man, reaching for a fry.

“Why are you here, Monty?” Bucky sounded as if he were in a lot of pain.

“I drove the car, of course,” Monty shrugged. “Did you actually think we were going to risk taking the train and miss this?”

“Oui. Ze trains. Zey…how do you zay? Zuck?” Jackie agreed.

“Like the mustache, Jacks. Looks good,” Monty approved.

“Merci!”

“If you’re all here, that means…” Bucky trailed off just as a sound of barking filled the air, followed by, “ _Dammit Hunter! Get back here! You just saw him an hour ago! It wasn’t that long! Heel Hunter! Heel!_ ”

“Yep,” Monty, Jackie and whoever the first person was said simultaneously.

“Well at least they brought the dogs.” Bucky had lowered his head to the table, burying his face in his arms.

_“Hunter! Dammit! Get back here!”_

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve could make out a large dog, that appeared to be a German Shephard, barreling toward them with a strange gait, being desperately chased by a man wearing faded jeans, a white t-shirt, and dark, circular sunglasses. The dog ignored him, his head lowered and his speed increasing, looking for all intents and purposes as if he was getting ready to attack, when Bucky suddenly called out,

“Hunter, _heel._ ”

And just like that, the dog skidded to a stop right at Bucky’s feet, and sat down, panting happily up at him.

“Good boy, Hunter,” Bucky reached out and began to scritch at the dog’s ears, who was pressing his nose into Bucky’s belly. That’s when Steve first noticed that the dog, Hunter, only had three legs.

“Worst seeing eye dog ever!” The man had also finally reached the table, and was scowling down at the dog.

“Are you fucking kidding me Jimmie! You’re not even blind! Where the hell did you even get those stupid glasses?” Bucky sounded as though it was only an extreme force of will that was keeping him from shouting.

“That’s ableist Bucky!” Jimmie, a handsome Asian man of medium height with short black hair and lightly tanned skin, shot back as he too made himself comfortable at their now suddenly very crowded table. “And I know for damned sure the Moms raised you better than that.”

Bucky sighed the sigh of the long-suffering and rolled his eyes heavenward. “Are you the one who came up with this?”

“That would be me,” a final man materialized out of nowhere, tall, striking, with dark skin, a second dog at his side, who upon seeing Bucky began pulling on its leash, until the man let go so the dog could also press itself against Bucky’s thighs. Bucky tapped the dog’s flank twice, causing it to look up. Once their gazes met, Bucky smiled a soft, warm smile, lifted his hands and began to gesture.

“Hey Hope. Good girl. Now sit. Please.” Each word was accompanied by a unique movement, and that’s when Steve realized Bucky was actually _signing_ to her.

“She’s deaf?” Steve asked no one in particular.

“Yeah,” the last man said. His voice was also low and deep, with the exact same accent as Bucky and Jimmie. “Born that way. No one wanted to adopt her because of it and she was running out of time. Bucky found that out, brought her home, named her Hope, and taught himself sign language so he could communicate with her. So, just so you know, that’s the type of man your soulmate is.”

“I trusted you, Gabe,” Bucky shook his head. “When I told you where I was going, I didn’t expect you to drag everyone else into it.”

“Yeah, you did Bucky. Did you think we were going to let you do this alone? That’s not who we are, or who we’ve ever been. Now scootch over, we need to talk to Captain Rogers.” Gabe jerked his chin in Bucky’s direction, and with yet another sigh, Bucky shifted over, allowing Gabe to slip into the seat he’d just been occupying.

And just like that, in less than a blink, the entire mood shifted as Steve was suddenly being scrutinized by five sets of very intense eyes.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us Bucky?” The man named Jimmie asked, his gaze as sharp as knives.

“Right,” Bucky exhaled. “Might as well get this over with. Steve, these are my brothers. Monty, Jackie and Dum Dum.” Bucky pointed out each man as he said their name, all of them nodding their heads as he spoke.

“We haven’t met, but we’ve texted,” Dum Dum, the large man with the bushy mustache, informed him.

“Thanks again for that,” Steve nodded.

“Don’t mention it.”

“And these two.” There was the slightest of shifts in Bucky’s voice when he next spoke, that hinted at something else, something more. “Are Jimmie and Gabe, who I’ve known my entire life.” _Ah_ , so that was it. These were the two men whose families had helped raise Bucky, taken him in as if he were their own.

“And boys, as you all already know, this is Steve Rogers, my soulmate.”

“Nice to meet you,” Steve smiled. His words were met by silence, and more of those intense stares. Until…

“He’s taller than he looks on TV,” Jackie said, his horrible French accent gone.

“Really? I think he’s shorter,” Dum Dum disagreed.

“Pretty enough though. And the blond looks like it’s natural. I always wondered about that,” Monty shrugged.

“O bachan’s still going to eat him for lunch though,” Jackie added. _O bachan?_ What the hell was an O bachan? And why was it going to eat him?

“It’s the Japanese word for grandmother,” Jimmie informed him, as if reading Steve’s mind. “If you want to really be a part of this family, you’re going to have to learn how to speak it.”

“And French,” Gabe added.

“And French,” Jimmie nodded.

“Look, Captain Rogers,” Gabe began after another uncomfortable pause.

“It’s Steve, please call me Steve.”

Gabe nodded his head in acknowledgement. “I don’t care what you call yourself, Steve. The only thing I care about, that any of us sitting here care about, is how you treat Bucky. That man is our brother, and any of us here would do anything to make sure he’s safe, just like he would do the same for us.”

“Gabe,” Bucky tried to interrupt.

“Let me finish, Bucky,” Gabe cut him off. “You treat him well, respect him, and always do your best to make him happy, and you’ll have no problems with any of us. But if you _ever_ do anything to hurt or take advantage of him, soulmate or not, I don’t care who you or your friends are, you won’t see us coming, I can promise you that.”

“And they’ll never find your body,” Jimmie finished.

Steve took a moment, leaning back slightly so he could study the faces of the men clustered around their table. He was met by five matching gazes, each as intense as the other, with not a hint of deception in any of them. But neither was there any mockery either, only a strong desire to protect from what little Steve could tell. It reminded him of the way Sam looked at him, whenever they’d finished a mission and Sam knew Steve had taken more hits than the rest of them, and was likely hiding his pain. Or Wanda, after they’d spent hours training together, Steve the only one out of all of the Avengers always encouraging her to use her full power, insisting she never had to hide her true self from him. Or Natasha, _especially Natasha_ , because Clint had once again managed to get hurt, and as exhausted as she was, she refused to leave his bedside, and when she opened her eyes from a sleep even she couldn’t prevent herself from falling into, he had been there, sitting quietly, guarding both of their sixes. It was a protectiveness borne out of loyalty and devotion, a love that had faced hell and come back from it even stronger. A soulmate bond was extremely rare, possibly the strongest one in the world, but it wasn’t the only type of bond, nor were any of the others less important because of it. Steve could respect that, understand it, had no intentions of interfering with it. And they didn’t know him, not yet, although he hoped that would soon change.

But Bucky _was_ his soulmate, and if they thought he didn’t respect and appreciate that, was more than willing to do everything in his power to foster and nurture a bond that somehow managed to survive waiting nearly a century to be fulfilled, then they were right; they didn’t know him very well at all.

“Are you done?” Steve asked, once he had given them enough time to take their fill. He wasn’t surprised when no one spoke. “Look, I get where this is coming from, believe me I do. And you _don’t_ know me yet, not really, I get that too. And there’s lots of crap that’s been said about me, about who I am and what I supposedly believe, that’s bullshit. I can’t help that. But what I can tell you is that I’ve been waiting for this, _for Bucky_ , all my life. I wasn’t born with a Grey Space, but it was there when I woke in this century. Nobody can figure out why, it’s not supposed to happen that way. But it did,” Steve shrugged.

He’d wondered about it, of course he had, and there was no one he could ask. But then again, if Steve had been born with a Grey Space, his life would have been very different. Erskine wouldn’t have chosen him for Project Rebirth, and maybe the Red Skull would have succeeded in his attempt to destroy the world. Or maybe whoever he would have been bound to would have ended up being drafted, called to war and not survived, his body frozen, forgotten, in an unmarked grave. So many men, too many, had died during World War Two. Maybe Steve had been the one who had been born too soon and needed to wait, to learn patience, so he would understand the true value of the gift he had been given. Or maybe, just maybe, he and Bucky were always meant to be, their destinies written in the stars, and the Fates had needed to twist and turn and reweave the fabric of time and space to see to it that what was always meant to be finally came to fruition.

Maybe, maybe, _maybe_.

Steve would never know, could never know. But it was what it was, and what it was, was meant to be. And Steve would be damned before he let _anyone_ get in his way.

“Quite honestly, I don’t care why. Just like I don’t care about what you, the Fates, or anyone else has to say about it. I was born to love that man sitting next to you, and I will spend the rest of my life proving it not to you, but _him_. So I appreciate your concern, believe me I do. But you can all go fuck yourselves if you think I’m going to let anyone get in the way of that.” Steve finished by making sure to lock gazes with each and every one of them, boldly, brashly, as honestly as he could. His words were met by silence, heavy and tense, that felt as if it could have dragged on forever, until it was broken by a snort from Gabe.

“He’s as stubborn a sonovabitch as you are,” he laughed, nudging Bucky’s shoulder with his own. And just like that, the mood was broken, smiles replacing scowls.

“They’re going to get along great,” Jimmie agreed.

“If they don’t kill each other first,” Monty said.

“Oy,” Bucky interjected.

“Nah, they already tried that. If the sweaty socks and that fucking fish didn’t do it, nothing will,” Jackie shrugged.

“It almost killed _me,_ ” Dum Dum grumbled.

“Oy!”

“Thank god that shit’s finally over,” Jimmie rolled his eyes. “Now Bucky can stop stinking up the entire neighborhood, and get to the fucking.”

_“Oy!”_

“A whole week of it, right?” Monty smirked, waggling his eyebrows.

“At least,” Jackie grinned.

“Can I move in with you guys for the next week?” Dum Dum asked Gabe, before turning back to Bucky. “I mean, I love you man, but I’ve already seen enough of your naked ass to last me a lifetime. I don’t need to double that.”

“That’s why you’ve got a private entrance, and your own damned kitchen, the one that we built _especially_ for you,” Bucky snapped at him.

“Yeah, but when you’re not trying to kill your soulmate and the rest of Brooklyn with that motherfucking fish, that’s usually where all the good food is. And you know I would kill for O bachan’s takoyaki,” Dum Dum answered.

“They are extraordinary,” Monty nodded.

_“They’re mine!”_ Bucky hissed.

“Learn to share, Bucky. We all know the Moms raised you better than that,” Jackie admonished.

“O bachan makes those especially for me!”

“Um…” Steve tried to interject, just as one of the dogs, Steve didn’t know which, started to bark, while the other took the opportunity to snatch the plate of chicken fingers from the table.

“It’s like this all the time. You’re going to have to get used to it,” Gabe told him.

“So we’re good?” Steve asked him.

“Yeah, we’re good.” And for the first time, Gabe smiled at him. It was a nice smile, not as striking as Bucky’s, but warm and kind. From what little Steve had seen, he appeared to be the quietest of the bunch, but Steve knew still waters always had the potential to run very, very deep. Steve didn’t know their dynamics yet, but he had witnessed enough to understand that Gabe’s opinion was one of the ones that would carry the most weight. He was proven right less than a second later when Gabe stood and announced, “Come on guys. We’ve made our point and interfered enough. Let’s leave these two alone so they can finish getting to know each other better,” and everyone fell quiet.

“Right,” Monty said, as they all rose to their feet, “nice to meet you, Captain Rogers. We’ll be seeing you around.”

“But not for at least a week,” Jackie made sure to remind them.

“At least,” Steve said, because he was, and always had been, a little shit. And he was really looking forward to SMSW. ( _Really looking forward to it.)_ “And like I said, call me Steve.”

Then there were slaps to his shoulder and hands held out for Steve to shake as each and every one of them said their goodbyes and wished him well. Once that was done, Steve couldn’t help but notice how they all took a moment to smile and offer congratulations to Bucky, who looked exasperated but fond, before they stepped away.

Until it was just Jimmie and Gabe who were left, the three of them standing face to face in a tight circle, the two dogs at their feet. Jimmie was the one to reach out first, pulling Bucky close and pressing their foreheads together, both of their eyes closed while Jimmie said something in Japanese, to which Bucky nodded. Jimmie stepped back, but only so Gabe could take his place, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s temple before tightening his arms.

“Bring him home when you’re ready,” Steve heard Gabe say. “You know the Moms are dying to meet him. They’ve been planning what they’re going to cook for weeks.”

“I will,” Bucky promised when they finally stepped apart. The love on his face as he did, smiling at the both of them, was astounding. All-encompassing and breathtaking, and endlessly, endlessly grateful. Steve could only hope one day Bucky would look at him like that.

“Do you want me to take Hunter and Hope with me?” Gabe asked, reaching for the leashes wrapped around Bucky’s wrists.

“You know their only going to whine if we try to take them away from Bucky, Gabe,” Jimmie said.

“Nah, Jimmie’s right,” Bucky shook his head. “And Steve needs to get to know them better anyway.”

“Um, I rode in on my motorcycle,” Steve felt it necessary to inform them.

“Yeah all right, you can take them with you,” Bucky suddenly changed his mind. And was that a blush Steve could see making its way over Bucky’s cheeks? _That_ was certainly interesting. “Just give them the rest of the chicken fingers that Hope thinks I didn’t notice her stealing, you silly dog.” Bucky reached down and again touched her flank.

“Just wait ‘til he meets Athena and Tuba,” Jimmie laughed as Gabe took their leads into his hand. And then they turned and joined their rest of the fellows, while Bucky stood, silent and still, his expression fathomless, watching them walk away.

“So those are your brothers?” Steve asked, having risen so he could join Bucky in his vigil. Bucky blinked once, slowly, as if waking from a deep sleep, finally turning his attention back to Steve.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Those are my boys.”

“Interesting group.” Steve made sure he was smiling as he said it, so Bucky would understand it was meant kindly. “A bit protective -“

“A bit,” Bucky snorted.

“But that’s because they love you, and want what’s best for you. I only just met them, and even I could see that.”

“I have a great family,” Bucky said simply, easily, as if it were something he readily admitted every day. “I’m really, really blessed.”

“I’m looking forward to getting to know them better.” Steve hoped Bucky could hear the sincerity in his voice.

“Really?” Bucky cocked an eyebrow at him. “Even after all that?”

“Especially after all that,” Steve grinned. “But first…”

“First?” Bucky asked.

Steve reached out for Bucky’s shirt so he could pull him close, his fingers clenching the shield decal. “I’d really like the chance to get to know you better.”

“I think that can be arranged,” Bucky practically purred, his lips parting, as he moved even closer to meet Steve halfway. His breath was hot against Steve’s skin, his eyes closing, the half inch between them far too far for Steve’s liking. Steve was just about to fix that, to close off that last little bit of distance, and resume what Bucky’s brothers had so rudely interrupted, eager, so eager, hungrier than he’d ever been for anything in his life….

When suddenly his phone went off.

And not just any ring, no, but the unique and very loud klaxon that was the call for the Avengers to assemble.

“ _Are you fucking kidding me? Now?”_ Steve shouted, almost as loud as the blaring from his phone, causing Bucky to jerk back.

“What the hell is that?” Bucky demanded, as Steve nearly ripped the back pocket of his jeans off in his rush to get to the phone.

“It’s work.” Steve wanted to rip his hair out as the words flashed over his screen. In his hurry to get to Bucky, he’d been too focused on trying to decide what he should wear, _(after trying on everything he owned, he finally settled on a slim fitting pair of well-washed jeans and a tight-fitting white t-shirt that highlighted his silhouette. Natasha would have definitely approved)_ , and forgotten to send a message to his teammates letting them know he was finally meeting his soulmate, and would be unavailable for at least the next seven days.

But once seen, the message could not be unseen. And while Bucky may have been Steve Roger’s soulmate and not Captain America’s, Steve Rogers was also Captain America, and this too was going to be a part of their lives they would have to allow for. Especially once Steve read the message.

_CODE RED. INCOMING ATTACK IN DOWNTOWN MANHATTAN. SOURCE UNKNOWN. HUMAN CASUALITIES. AVENGERS ASSEMBLE ASAP. CODE RED._

“Bucky, I…” Steve hoped Bucky could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes, how sorry he was, how desperately Steve didn’t want to leave him, especially not now.

But Bucky had obviously figured out what was happening, and taken a step back, a look of resignation, but also understanding on his face.

“Go,” he said with a sharp nod.

“I’m so sorry, Bucky. You have to know -“

“It’s alright. I get it. They need you. Now go,” Bucky cut him off.

“Go back home to your family, make sure they’re all safe, and lock yourselves inside. I’ll let you know when it’s over.” Steve wanted to kiss him, to take him back into his arms, press their lips together and never let go; the Grey Space on his arm was practically shrieking in protest from his shoulder. But he knew if he did that now, he’d never be able to stop, and his team needed him. All he could do was offer an oath of his own in exchange, and hope it would be enough.

“You’ll see me soon. And the next time, there won’t be any interruptions, I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Bucky nodded again. “Be careful out there.”

“I will,” Steve swore.

“Now _go_.”

With one last glance, one last small smile, Steve turned around, and went.

***

The skies were clear, the sun warm and the breeze gentle as Bucky stood in the middle of Nathan’s outdoor seating area on Coney Island’s boardwalk on the day that was supposed to be the beginning of the rest of his life. But just like expected, just like always, what was supposed to be a miracle, a moment of happiness, something to look forward to and cherish, was snatched from his grasp.

He was damned tired of it. Who the hell did they think they were dealing with, that he was going to allow this shit to keep happening to him?

_Oh hell no._

It was time for Bucky to take matters into his own hands.

Reaching into his pocket for his phone, his real one and not the burner he’d been using to communicate with Steve, without bothering to look at his screen, he swiped it on, brought it to his ear, and made a call.

“Gabe, you and the boys still in the area?” he asked as soon as he heard the line connect.

“Yeah Bucky, we are. Why? Was Monty right? Did you two already try to kill each other?”

“No.” Bucky knew his voice was as cold, as flat, as icy as the callsign, _Winter_ , that had been his whenever the Howlies were on a mission. Gabe recognized it too, just like Bucky knew he would.

“What’s going on, Sarge?” he asked, his tone matching Bucky’s.

“I need you to come get me, and then we’re heading home and gearing up. There’s a situation in Manhattan that needs taking care of, and we’re going to fucking take care of it.” Bucky was already running, heading towards Stillwell Avenue.

“Ten-four. Monty will be turning into the intersection in four seconds.”

“I see you.” Bucky bolted toward the SUV, the tires screeching as it made a sharp turn, barely slowing as the back door opened in a perfect synchronicity that allowed him to jump inside.

“What’s the sitch?” Jimmie asked, his tablet in hand as he waited for Bucky’s next order. Bucky held up his own hand, telling him to wait as he accepted the incoming call he’d known was coming as soon as Steve’s phone started blaring.

“Already on it, Colonel,” he answered without having to look at the screen. “ETA in under an hour.”

“Make it half that,” Philips’ voice barked over the line. “I’m sending everything I’ve got to Morita right now. There are already civilian casualties, so I’m authorizing you to use whatever measures you think necessary. Someone’s trying to pull some bullshit down by Gramercy Park, and you know how much I hate bullshit. The Avengers have been called in, but I want this taken care of neat, clean and quick, and that’s not what they’re known for. Don’t let me down, Sergeant.”

“Confirm,” Bucky acknowledged, while Jimmie, with Gabe looking over his shoulder, opened the data packet Philips sent. But the Colonel, in his typical style, having relayed his message and knowing the job would get done, had already disconnected.

“Sarge, what’s going on? What’re we heading into?” Dum Dum asked, Ocean Parkway nothing but a blur beyond the SUV’s tinted windows.

“What’s going on?” Bucky repeated, shoving his phone back into his pocket. “What’s going on is that some fucking assholes were stupid enough to actually attack _our city_ while we’re onsite. Not only that, to top it all off, those fuckers decided to pull this shit on the day I finally decided to meet my motherfucking soulmate! I am _fucking pissed off_ , that’s what the hell is going on Dum Dum!”

“Uh-oh,” Gabe muttered, while Jackie, knowing he was more than likely going to get to blow things up in the next few hours, began to cackle in unabashed glee.

Motherfuckers. They had _no idea_ who they were dealing with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who has made it this far in the story, I just wanted to say thank you and that I hope you know by now how much I welcome comments. But I am not looking for concrit or negative feedback at this time (unless you feel there's something that needs to be tagged or warned for that I haven't). If this story isn’t shaping up as you hoped, you don't have to tell me why, and I won't be offended if you stop reading. Not every fic is for everybody, and that's OK. 😊
> 
> Whatever you decide, I hope that you and everyone you care about is healthy and safe, and stay that way until we get through this. **hugs**


	15. Chapter 15

Steve was furious. He was absolutely, stick-a-fork-in-him-he-was-beyond-done furious. Because seriously, what the fuck?

_What._

_The._

_Ever-living._

_Fuck?_

The day had started off so well too. Bucky had finally reached out to him, asking for a face to face meeting, and when Steve saw him, finally laying eyes on his soulmate, Bucky had been beautiful, vibrant with life, the indulgent owner of a dog with only three legs, and another who was deaf for whom he learned sign language in order to communicate with. He was so much more than Steve could have possibly hoped for. And okay, his family had been a bit weird, but Steve lived with a man who turned into a green rage monster _(and Tony)_ , so he was used to weird; he could live with that. They had shared one kiss, and were supposed to be in bed, at the beginning of at least a week of endless hot and sweaty sex, _(Steve had been really looking forward to that week, okay?)_

But was Steve in the middle of getting his brains fucked out for the first time in over seventy years, while doing the same to Bucky?

No. No, he wasn’t.

To make matters even worse, Steve hadn’t gotten a chance to take a bite, not a _single, goddamned bite_ of the hotdog Bucky obviously ordered for him, and he was hungry and pissed off about that too.

So instead of being well-fed and well-fucked, he was covered in blood, sweat, dirt and bug guts.

Fucking bug guts.

From giant flying cockroaches.

Because that was what the asshole, who had the audacity to ruin Steve’s perfect day, had decided to attack downtown Manhattan with. Huge, genetically modified so they were the size of pigeons, enhanced with some kind of nano-tech, flying fucking cockroaches. Thousands, maybe millions of them, a swarm large enough to block out the sun and darken the sky with their numbers.

Steve, having lived in plenty of tenements growing up, really fucking hating cockroaches. But then again, who didn’t? They were disgusting and vile, and seeing one always meant there were more, and seriously? _This_ was what his life was reduced to? Why the Avengers had been created? To engage in a battle against cockroaches?

Still, Steve had to admit, it was a brilliant strategy, and whoever had come up with the idea was certainly well prepared. Their size and speed meant they were difficult to shoot. Clint was an excellent shot, but his arrows weren’t endless, and no matter how many he took down, there were ten more to take its place. They had sharp metallic pincers they were using to cut down anything in their way, which meant Sam was grounded. They kept swarming around the Hulk, and no matter how many he managed to smash, they just kept coming, too many for him to destroy, his roars of frustration growing louder and louder with every passing minute. Wanda was using her power to maintain a shield around Gramercy Park, her barrier the only thing protecting the hundreds of civilians who hadn’t been able to make it to shelter safely. If she dropped the forcefield in order to engage, those people would be killed.

Even Tony in his Iron Man suit was no match for them. Whoever was controlling the swarm had obviously studied all the Avengers’ strengths and weaknesses, and were using not just force, but numbers to counter any attack Tony may have used. No matter how high or fast Tony flew, he was always surrounded by at least a hundred of them, dodging in, out and around the reach of his blasters. The multitude also meant his sensors were overwhelmed and he was unable to provide them with any accurate or useful data.

Steve and Natasha were their best ground forces, but there was only so much even Natasha’s Widow Bites and Steve’s shield could do, and they were taking hit after hit, while they worked with Maria, Clint and Sam to lead as many pedestrians as possible to shelter.

“Ideas?” Steve gasped, catching both his shield and breath as Natasha barricaded the bank doors closed after the last woman stumbled her way through, while in the background a voice roared, “ _HULK HATE BUGS!_ ”

“None,” she panted back. She had a deep gash on her forehead, one on her upper arm and another on her thigh. “There’s too many of them to take out one by one. We need to find out who’s controlling them and where.”

“Tony?”

“Little…busy…over here – _dammit, knock it off_ …Cap. Can’t get…a – _oh fuck you_ – a read,” Tony’s voice echoed through Steve’s earwig.

“Ground support able to offer any intel?” Steve turned to Maria. She had run out of ammo nearly half an hour ago, and was doing her best trying to hold off as many off as she could with a metal beam she had found somewhere.

“Swarm’s too big.” She was also sporting injuries, bruises on her face and cuts on her hands. “And they’re tracking movement. No one can get in or out.”

“Where the fuck are they all coming from?” Long since out of arrows, Clint had adopted Maria’s approach and was using his bow to smash as many as possible.

“Dunno, but we need to find their source, and as fast as possible,” Steve said, taking down three with his shield, only to have six more take their place.

“Guys, we’ve got an even bigger problem,” Sam cut in. He was the worst off out of all of them. The insects’ metal pinchers had shredded his wings, and there was a vibrant patch of red on his left side that was worrying Steve.

“Bigger than a million fucking cockroaches?” Steve couldn’t begin to imagine what could possibly be worse.

“Yeah, even bigger. ‘Cos those million fucking cockroaches? They’ve pinpointed our location, and they’re starting to spiral in our direction.” It had been a last-ditch effort; localize the fight to free up other areas and allow any civilians the chance to get away. It had worked somewhat. From what Steve could see, half of the swarm was hovering over their area of Lower Manhattan, but there were still too many of them elsewhere for additional assistance to reach them. Even half the swarm was more than they could handle, and when Steve looked up, he could see them beginning to form a cyclone heading straight towards them. “And we’ve got two civvies on the street as well, ‘bout fifty feet away, three o’clock.”

“ _Fuck!_ Where the hell did they come from?” They were too far away for any one of them to run interference when Steve glanced over, seeing exactly what Sam described; two men, wearing jeans and hoodies, scarves covering the lower half of their faces, and backpacks slung over their shoulders, now less than forty feet away.

“Get out of here! Keep low and seek shelter!” Steve shouted at them, hoping they could hear him over the relentless chitter the bugs were making. If he could aim his shield just right, he might be able to knock open a car door, which would buy them some time, but not much.

He thought they must have, especially when the shorter one kneeled next to the back of a nearby delivery van. But instead of reaching for the doors or crawling underneath, he slid his backpack from his shoulders while his companion stood in front of him, legs braced, reaching into his own bag, not moving from his spot.

“Jesus-fucking-Christ, if they start livestreaming this on FaceBook, never mind the damned bugs, I will murder them myself!” Maria growled.

“Not if I don’t get to them first,” Sam hissed. “GET DOWN!”

They ignored him, and Steve was preparing to make a dash for them when Natasha’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“What are they doing?” Her voice, unlike the others, wasn’t frustrated, but inquisitive instead. When Steve stopped to stare, he noticed what she had. The first had pulled out a device that looked like a laptop; or at least it did at first until he touched something on the surface with his index finger, and it suddenly expanded, growing larger, similar to the way Tony’s gauntlets did when he used them to activate the Iron Man suit. It spread, sprouting legs and panels, and three full-sized screens, along with an antenna, from which erupted a circular disk.

Whatever it was he was trying to do, it wasn’t going to be enough. Part of the swarm had noticed, and disengaged from the group, ready to attack the interlopers. He and his companion were going to get killed except…

That was when the second man pulled out something that looked like a flame thrower from his own bag, bracing it on his shoulder, and aimed what ended up being a bright white beam at the incoming roaches, disintegrating them on contact.

“What _the hell_ was that?” Maria asked the question on Steve’s, everyone’s, mind.

“Never mind that! Can they do it again?” Clint hissed as one of the damned bugs got past his bow and sliced his cheek.

“Doesn’t matter. We’ve still got the rest to deal with,” Sam said, although he sounded as shocked as Steve, as the second man fired another blast that took out forty more. There was something familiar about him, that Steve couldn’t quite place, but drew his attention none-the-less. He was saying something to the man behind him, who was nodding while keeping his attention on the screens in front of him, his fingers flying over the keyboard.

Steve took a step closer, turning his ear toward them, using his enhanced hearing to try to listen to their conversation. It was difficult, nearly impossible over the ever louder growing roar of the swarm, but he could still make out a few words.

_“Identifying frequencies…four of them…triangulating and isolating…Got it!...sending coordinates for Alpha, Beta, Charlie, Delta now…”_

_“Hurry it up Data, they’re getting closer.”_

_“Gimme a sec…Gotcha…Pulse in three, two -“_

“STEVE! GET DOWN!”

_“One.”_

When Steve spun at Sam’s shout, one of the roaches was less than a foot away, its razor-sharp pinchers aimed directly at his throat. He was raising his shield, hoping he could block it in time, his mind flashing to the blue of Bucky’s eyes, hoping he’d get the chance to see them again, when suddenly it just stopped, dropping from the air with a heavy clank.

Along with about two-thirds of the cyclone of roach-flesh and metal that had been barreling their way. The remaining third stopped, not dropping, but pulling away instead, not too far, regrouping as whoever was in control of them reassessed.

“The fuck?” Maria blurted. “Do that again!”

“Our side?” Natasha asked quietly, repositioning herself so she was back to back with Steve, focused on the remaining swarm.

“Dunno. Looks like it so far,” Steve answered, keeping his eyes on the duo. He knew them from somewhere, he was certain of it.

“Could be an unknown AIM splinter cell we haven’t gotten any intel on yet,” she reminded him.

“Maybe,” Steve had to agree. He couldn’t tell, and what he could still hear was not providing any additional clarity.

_“Herc and Sparks taking care of Beta…Winter’s on it…fast fucker…Charlie…terminated.”_ It was the first voice, Data, again.

The swarm surrounding Tony suddenly dropped from the sky, falling to the ground as lifelessly as the ones about to kill Steve and everyone else around him had.

_“Destroyed.”_

_“No new toys for you then,”_ there was a calm amusement in the second man’s voice.

_“Don’t want ‘em anyway. I fucking hate roaches. Need to work on improving the range on Blastoise here.”_

_“Next version.”_

_“Not good enough now.”_

“Guys, while we appreciate the assist, this is still an active combat zone. You need to evacuate now!” Steve ordered.

“Even sooner than. We’ve got incoming again. Two directions this time,” Sam warned.

_Fuck._ Sam was right; in the few seconds Steve had been distracted, trying to overhear what the interlopers were saying, the swarm regrouped, more joining the original cluster, dividing itself into two, approaching from both the east and the west, boxing them within the narrow confines of Twenty-Second Street. They were trapped, even more surrounding them than originally, swooping low and flying faster than before.

“Everybody down! Under a car if you can!” Steve shouted, grabbing Natasha to cover the both of them with his shield.

Everybody instantly dropped, except for the original two. The first man seemed unaffected, his eyes still on his screens, and the second had once again raised his weapon to his shoulder. But in spite of that, they appeared utterly calm, as if they had been expecting this. If that wasn’t bad enough, there was now another civilian, a bear of a man, who also had a scarf covering the lower half of his face and was barreling towards them, shouting and waving his arms in the air, as if the idiot was trying to draw their attention.

Which was what he was, in fact, trying to do. It caused the roaches to spiral tightly in order to fit through the narrow space between the buildings lining the street in their pursuit. He wasn’t going to make it, the swarm was getting too close, less than two feet away. Except just as he reached the corner, the man put on a final burst of speed, launched himself into the air, and shouted, “ _NOW!_ ” an instant before a wave of fire erupted from the entryway, a reverse waterfall of flame that completely destroyed that half of the swarm.

“Ha ha ha! Suck my dick, you motherfuckers!” A new voice cackled, just as a fourth figure, whose mouth and chin was also covered by a bandana, emerged from behind a car, just as the third rolled to a stop at his feet.

“Nice one Sparks. What’d you use?” The second man asked, while turning his weapon in the direction of the remaining half.

“Raid,” the man, apparently called Sparks, answered.

“Huh,” Flamethrower huffed. “Good call.”

“Really?” Clint asked.

“Clint!” Sam snapped.

“What? It worked!”

“What about you Herc? You okay?” Flamethrower checked.

“Please,” The bear, no, Herc, dismissed, dusting himself off as if he did this every day. “This was nothing compared to -“

“Beta terminated. Package destroyed,” Data cut them off, then continued under his breath, “Jesus, he’s fucking fast when he wants to be.”

“That just leaves this lot then,” Flamethrower placed his finger back on the trigger of his weapon, while Sparks _(and okay, Steve could admit that made sense now)_ , pulled two cannisters from his pockets.

“Um, Sparks-dude? You wouldn’t happen to have any more of those Raid bombs you could spare, would you?” Clint asked.

“Clint!” Sam snapped again.

“What? I’m outta arrows and they worked!”

“Get your own!” Sparks snapped back.

“Aw c’mon, please?”

“Clint!”

“We’ve still got Alpha to deal with,” Herc was saying to Flamethrower when Steve pulled his attention away from Clint.

“It’s covered,” Flamethrower assured him calmly.

“Well he needs to hurry it up, ‘cos they’ve regrouped and we’ve got more incoming.” Herc was squinting at the remaining swarm, which was zooming toward them.

“He’s never missed a shot in his life. You know that,” Flamethrower said, raising his weapon. “We just gotta buy him enough time.”

“Yeah but –“

There was a sudden crack of gunfire echoing through the air, followed by a second one an instant later, that for some reason dropped each and every last one of the remaining roaches of death.

“Signal just died. Alpha target eliminated,” Data sighed, glancing up from his device for the first time since they’d arrived.

“Oh ye of little faith.” Steve could hear the smugness in Flamethrower’s voice.

“No, it’s just…fucking roaches, man. They give me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Tony demanded, as he stumbled a landing. His suit was heavily damaged, and he was barely able to keep his feet as he touched ground in the middle of the street on top of a pile of _(ugh)_ roach corpses. They actually crunched beneath his boots. Steve was going to have nightmares about that sound, he just knew it.

“Are we good?” Sparks ignored Tony, his attention on Data instead.

“He hasn’t given the all clear yet,” Data shook his head.

“Right,” Flamethrower said, his spine growing even straighter. “Eyes open. We’re not done.”

“I said, who. The fuck. Are you?” Tony never liked being ignored, and that certainly hadn’t changed during the past hour. But they were all covered in blood, and even worse, roach guts, so Steve figured he was entitled, at least for right now. The group ignored him, their eyes scanning their surroundings.

“I asked you a question, and I swear to Christ you better answer me, or I will shoot you where you stand.” Tony lifted his left hand, his repulsor charging.

“No you won’t. Gotta lock on you too,” Data told him, pressing a button on one of his screens. “Second pulse engaged. Suit’s deactivated. You’re dead in the water.”

“What?” Tony jerked, the light in his left hand turning black.

“Ha! Nice one Data,” Sparks laughed “You’re definitely going to be getting a bonus in your next paycheck once the boss hears about that.”

_“Who the hell are you?”_ Tony asked again, staring down at his palm. “And more importantly, why aren’t you working for me?”

“As if,” Data rolled his _(suddenly very familiar)_ eyes at Tony.

“You seriously need to hire them, Tony,” Clint felt it necessary to add. “That one over there had Raid bombs. Do you know what I could do with Raid bombs?”

_“_ What? _”_ Tony asked.

“Clint!” Sam shouted yet again.

“What the fuck is a Raid bomb?”

“Do you know who they are Steve?” Natasha murmured quietly, while somehow managing to not move her lips. “Are they hostiles? Mercs?”

“I,” Steve paused to narrow his eyes. Because yeah, it had finally clicked, the pieces coming together, as Steve began to recognize voices, gestures, mannerisms, and even features that were very deliberately being concealed by men pretending to be civilians, but obviously weren’t. It was clever, the way they had dressed themselves in everyday clothes, which would allow them to blend in with any crowd. Except for the way they moved, determined and full of purpose, organized and coordinated as they took stock of the situation and reacted, in a way only those who considered themselves brothers, or a military unit would. Men who stood side by side, fiercely loyal to one another, able to anticipate each other’s next move and react accordingly. He hadn’t spoken to them for very long, but it had been less than two hours ago, and his memory post-serum was eidetic. Now that he was no longer distracted by flying fucking roaches, could pay attention to and analyze the details, he had the answer to everyone’s most pressing question at the moment. Two were still missing, but he had a sinking suspicion they weren’t far. And even worse, who the one called Winter really was.

“Gabe,” Steve took half a step forward, keeping his shield raised and ready. Because he had met them, been teased by them, offered an invitation into their family, but been completely unaware of this side of them. And they were, had proven to be, unbelievably efficient and Steve hated to admit it, deadly. He hoped but had no idea whose side they were really on. “Is that you? What are you doing here? What are all of you doing here?” Behind him, Steve could feel Natasha shifting her weight, the tone in Steve’s voice making her wary. From twenty feet away, Steve was once again, for the second time in less than a day, being scrutinized by four sets of very intense eyes.

“I need you to tell me the truth, Gabe. What are you doing here? And is -“

“You motherfuckers!” A new voice shrieked from the opposite end of the street. They all turned as one to see a woman, or what once may have been a woman, they had never seen before striding towards them. She was tall and beanpole thin, which harsh, sharp features, made even more horrid by the pale, flaking skin hanging from her face. She had wings, roach wings, protruding from her shoulders, and a strange glowing amulet hanging from a heavy chain around her neck, that looked like a gruesome parody of Tony’s arc reactor. She didn’t so much walk as scuttle, and only one of her hands was human. The other ended in a razor-sharp pincher that, to everyone’s horror and dismay, was pressed into the throat of a little boy who couldn’t have been more than six-years-old, his eyes wide with terror as she dragged him over the ground with each step she took. She had already cut into his skin, and he was whimpering as the blood dripped from the end of her claw to splatter in heavy drops to the ground.

“You need to let him go, Ma’am,” Steve ordered, although how he ever managed to call it, _her_ , a ma’am, he would never know.

“Let him go? Why would I ever do that after everything you’ve done to me?” Her voice was as gruesome as her appearance, the buzz of a roach in flight, the sound of their feet scittering above your head in the dark.

“Lady, we weren’t the one who attacked the city with sentient cyborg roaches!” Tony shouted at her. It was rare Steve ever agreed with Tony, but there were exceptions, and this was definitely one of them. “For fuck’s sake, do you have any idea what the clean up on this is going to be like?”

“My babies! My beautiful, precious babies, and you killed them all!” she screamed.

“They were fucking roaches! Of course we did!” Clint yelled back.

“They were my children! The fruits of my labor after years and years of research!”

“At least she didn’t say loins,” Maria muttered.

“Born from my body –“

“Never mind,” Maria sighed.

“Aw brain, no.”

“After you,” she raised her human hand and pointed it at Tony, “rejected my research proposal!”

“Wait, Celeste Thompson? Is that you?” Tony asked.

“You said I was crazy –“

“Well duh!” Tony said, as if it were obvious _(and it kind of was)._

“But I showed you! My swarm, my children, had this city and everyone in it on their knees!”

“But lemme guess, you would have gotten away with it too, if not for us crazy kids?”

“Shut up Tony!” Steve snapped.

“What? She’s a roach lady! It’s not like we don’t already know she’s evil!”

“My name is Roachella! Not roach lady!”

“Oh dear god,” Sam moaned.

“Listen, R-roachella,” Sometimes Steve couldn’t help but wonder how the hell this was his life. “You need to –“

“Take one more step forward, and I’ll slit his throat. You may be fast, but most of your team is wounded, and even you’re not fast enough to stop me with your shield before I cut his head off!”

“What do you want?” Steve asked.

“What I want are my babies back! My mates not to be dead! But since I can’t have that, I’ll take you all as their replacements! The nanobots in here will transform you -” While she spoke, she lifted her free hand to the base of her throat, bringing it closer to the amulet hanging there. But there were other voices, nearly silent, Steve was certain only he could hear, and only because of his enhanced hearing.

_“He’s here…”_

_“Gonna be tight…”_

_“My turn…”_

_“You sure?”_

_“Just like…”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“On you…”_

There was a shift, ever-so-slight, and a pause, like the instant before the hammer hit the piano string, the infinitesimal eternity between one heartbeat and the next, the teeniest, tiniest tingle on Steve’s tongue just before he’d kissed Bucky for the first time. And then…

“And I will rule –“

It all happened so fast.

The crack of a single gunshot.

A bright red supernova of blood and brains.

Gabe coming out of nowhere, simultaneously grabbing the child and tearing the amulet from the woman’s throat.

Her twitching corpse collapsing to the ground, while Gabe rolled to his feet, the child in his arms somehow still alive.

A car racing around the corner, its doors already open, the fifth member of their team showing up right on time, who Steve knew would have a British accent when he spoke.

Dum Dum, Jackie and Jimmie dashing toward the car, their gear already packed up, while Gabe, in a smart choice, the smartest choice he could have possibly made, tossed the child in Natasha’s direction, forcing her to catch the still crying little boy, before getting ready to make his own dash into the get-away vehicle.

“Gabe, stop!” Steve shouted, shifting to intercept. “I need you to remain on site, and hand that over.” Steve tilted his chin toward the amulet Gabe still had clenched in his fist.

Gabe turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder with a shake of his head.

“I’m sorry Cap, I respect you and all, but I don’t take orders from you.”

“That’s dangerous tech. I can’t let you leave with it.” Steve hated to do it, but he raised his shield, regretful but more than ready to use it, no matter how much it would pain him to do it.

“You don’t get to make that decision.” Gabe was actually brave, or stupid enough, to turn his back on Steve.

“Yeah, Gabe, I do –“

_CRACK!_

A second gunshot, its bullet striking the ground less than an inch from Steve’s feet.

“No, you don’t,” Gabe told him from inside the car. “And thanks for the distraction by-the-way. It was much appreciated. But from now on, leave the real work to the professionals. You might not be so lucky next time.” Then the car was racing away, its tires screeching over the pavement, gaining more speed with every second.

Steve tore after them, but the driver, Monty, unsurprisingly knew what he was doing, and the car’s unremarkable body concealed an engine that had somehow been modified to run as fast as one of Tony’s sports cars. It was too fast for even Steve to keep up with. But as the distance between them grew, Steve could only stop and stare in yet further shock, as in a perfectly timed dance a figure clad in all black landed on top of its roof, clinging in a low crouch, his balance never once faltering as the car skidded around a corner and disappeared from view.

Steve couldn’t see his eyes, they were too far away. But he knew, if their gazes had met, they would have been a pale blue-grey, just like the ones he had stared into less than two hours ago.

“Steve, who was that? Do you know them?” Sam panted from behind him, having snuck up on Steve unawares.

“Yeah, I know them,” Steve admitted with a sigh.

“Care to share with the rest of the class, so we can run a trace? ‘Cos we need to get that amulet back.”

“Already on it,” Steve said, activating his earwig. “JARVIS, I need you to get me an address, and any additional information you possibly can, for James Buchanan Barnes, current residence somewhere in Brooklyn.”

_‘Initiating now, Captain.’_

“James Buchanan Barnes? Who the hell is James Buchanan Barnes?” Sam asked.

Steve closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. Goddammit. What the hell Bucky? Why?

“It’s Bucky, Sam.”

“Come again?”

“James Buchanan Barnes is Bucky. My soulmate.”

“Well fuck.”

_Yeah. Well fuck indeed._

***

“What’s next, Sarge?” Jimmie asked once the car cleared the Brooklyn Bridge and turned onto the Gowanas Expressway, Monty’s driving as smooth and controlled as it ever was.

“I need to call it in to Philips,” Bucky said, using the hand wipe to remove the last of the black war paint from around his eyes, “and then figure out what to do with this.” He kicked the black steel box at his feet containing that strange bitch’s amulet, along with the destroyed remains of the other devices he’d recovered, transmitters of some sort from his best guess, once he’d eliminated their operators. “But first, Jonesie?”

“Yeah?” Gabe asked.

“I need you to call the Moms. Warn them to expect company in the neighborhood and to lock themselves in, and engage all the security measures we showed them. They are _not_ to answer the door, no matter what.”

“On it.” Gabe was already making the call.

“You think it’s gonna come to that?” Jimmie asked.

“I know it’s going to come to that.” Bucky pulled another wipe from the container to start working on getting his hands clean. “We made fools of the Avengers, and Steve recognized us. Soulmate or not, they aren’t going to take that lying down.”

“Sorry about that Sarge. That was our fault,” Dum Dum mumbled.

“You boys did nothing wrong. We had a job to do, and we got it done. Don’t apologize for that,” Bucky shook his head. “You were just following my orders. Any fall out from this, I’ll be the one who takes it.”

“Fuck you Bucky. That’s not who we are or who we’ve ever been,” Jimmie snarled at him.

“Hell no,” Monty agreed, effortlessly switching lanes and putting on even more speed.

“And who else gets to say they outsmarted the Avengers,” Dum Dum grinned.

“That was definitely my favorite part,” Jackie cackled.

“Yeah well, we’ll see,” Bucky undid the tie holding his ponytail up and ran his fingers through his hair. “’Cos I have a feeling it’s going to get a hell of a lot worse before it gets better.”

***

“Are you sure about this, Steve?” Sam asked for what must have been the hundredth time as Steve approached the door of the midsized house on Bay 35th Street in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. It was a nice-looking place of solid construction; red-bricked with white window frames and shutters, a neatly kept front porch lined with potted plants, and a small, well-tended gated front yard. It was a home, obviously loved and cared for, in the middle of a clean street in a quiet neighborhood, a perfect place for somebody who wanted to surround themselves in family. Steve hoped he wasn’t about to ruin that for Bucky, but after he and Natasha had gone through the file on one James Buchanan Barnes JARVIS provided them on the way over, he had questions he needed answers to.

“I told you to head back to the Tower, Sam. I can handle this on my own.” Sam had insisted on coming along, in spite of his injury, which they had cleaned and quickly patched up during the ride over.

“Oh hell no! Like I was going to miss this!” Sam argued.

“Like any of us were,” Clint added. Steve wanted to do this alone, was confident in his ability to keep the situation from spiraling even more out of control. If he could just talk to Bucky, he was certain he could get the answers to the multitude of questions he now had. But the Avengers, being the nosy, busy-bodies they were, insisted on coming along. Which was why he was joined on the porch by Sam, Natasha, Clint and _(lord help him, why?)_ Tony. Maria had stayed behind to coordinate cleanup, and Wanda to look after the Hulk, who Steve had last seen sitting beneath a tree, crying, _“Hulk. Hate. Roaches. Hulk. Hate. Roaches,”_ over and over again.

“It doesn’t look like he’s here anyway,” Natasha observed, scanning the property. “Doesn’t mean he isn’t, but it doesn’t look like it.”

“He’s not.” Steve didn’t need to knock on the door to know Bucky wasn’t home; the pulling throb of his Grey Space was telling him that wherever Bucky was, it was far away, and getting farther with every passing second. “But we need to start somewhere. After we do a quick check, we’ll head across the street and speak with the Moritas and the Joneses. They’re his family, and if anyone knows where he is, it’ll be them. Once we explain the situation, and why we’re here, I’m sure they’ll be more than happy to cooperate.”

“If you say so,” Sam sighed as Steve rang the doorbell. The windows were dark and the house quiet, but after a minute or so, Steve heard the sound of movement inside; a soft shuffling making its way to the door. Steve glanced at Natasha, then rang the doorbell again. A few seconds later it creaked open, a tiny, wrinkled face peering up at them through the darkest eyes Steve had ever seen.

“Hai?” a feminine voice rasped softly.

“Uh, hello. My name is Steve, and I’m looking for James Buchanan Barnes? Bucky? He lives here, and I need to speak to him.”

“Hai,” she said again, even more wrinkles appearing on her face as she smiled.

And that’s when everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **leaves rustle** So, if you're looking for BlueSimplicty, she is NOT in this bush. She is in that bush, OVER THERE. This is a perfectly innocent bush which, no one is hiding in. **leaves rustle some more as the bush slowly starts to creep away**
> 
> ETA: I apologize for having to post this again, but based on some of the comments this chapter has gotten already...
> 
> For anyone who has made it this far in the story, I just wanted to say thank you and that I hope you know by now how much I welcome comments. But I am not looking for concrit or negative feedback at this time (unless you feel there's something that needs to be tagged or warned for that I haven't). This story is meant to be cracky. It's tagged as such, and that means that some of the things that happen are ridiculous, and perhaps not what would normally be in character. 
> 
> If this story isn’t shaping up as you hoped, you don't have to tell me why, and I won't be offended if you stop reading. Not every fic is for everybody, and that's OK. 
> 
> Again, sorry about this, and if you do continue to read, I sincerely hope you enjoy where the rest of the story goes.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who has made it this far in the story, I wanted to say thank you from the bottom of my heart.
> 
> That said, I know the last chapter wasn't to everyone's tastes. Just to give you all fair warning, this chapter continues in the exact same vein. It's silly, cracky and ridiculous, with Steve pretty much serving as comic relief, meant to make you laugh. So if you didn't enjoy the previous chapter, you more than likely won't enjoy this one. And that's all right. No story is for everyone. We all have our own likes and dislikes, and what we're looking for whenever we read something varies from person to person.
> 
> However, if this story is no longer to your taste, please refrain from telling me so. With all that's going on in the world right now, we're all looking for safe spaces to take comfort from. The comment section is one of mine, and I really do love reading and responding to (most of) your comments. But I am not looking for concrit or negative feedback at this time, and I will delete any comments which I feel are crossing a line. 
> 
> If you do decide to keep reading after this, then I really do hope you enjoy this chapter, and get at least a laugh or two out of it. It was all meant in good fun, and I hope that comes through as well.
> 
> Also, in the chapter after this, the story finally earns its explicit rating, so there is that too. **wink**
> 
> **hugs** (and toilet paper) to you all.

“Does anybody else find this really, really embarrassing?” Clint asked no one in particular.

Unfortunately, Steve had to agree. When he was finally able to open his eyes, the back of his neck throbbing, he’d done a quick look around, discovering Sam, Natasha, Clint and Tony were with him, thankfully mostly unharmed, except for the matching lumps on Clint and Sam’s foreheads. They were in what appeared to be a comfortable living room, clean and nicely furnished, that Steve’s senses, still fuzzy but quickly clearing thanks to the serum, told him was below ground. Steve had certainly woken up in worse places, especially during his time in the war.

Just as unfortunate however, he, along with the rest of his teammates, were all tied to chairs with bonds that, when Steve struggled against them, to his complete and utter shock, actually held. Sam, Clint and Tony seemed to be in the exact same predicament, locked in place with braces on their wrists, waists and ankles, while whoever dealt with Natasha had decided not to take any chances, and covered her from shoulders to feet in a binding of thick, heavy, knotted black rope. For the first time ever, she looked as surprised as Steve.

“No, you’re definitely not the only one,” Sam grumbled, looking _(once again)_ like he was seriously regretting every single one of his life’s choices.

“Oh shut up you idiotic shit-for-brains. You know damned well you fools brought this on yourselves!”

That was the other thing; they weren’t alone.

The owner of the voice was a wizened old man, with white tufts of hair sprouting from the top of his head and out of his ears, dark skin, knobby knees, and more wrinkles than Steve would have believed possible.

He wasn’t the only one either. There was a tall middle-aged woman, with a matching skin tone, long, neatly kept salt-and-pepper braids pulled back from her handsome features, and a plump body standing next to him. Besides her was a slim and elegantly dressed petite woman of Asian descent, also middle-aged, with black hair in a neat bob surrounding a pretty face. Finally, sitting in a chair in a corner was their final captor, a tiny, little old-lady, a wisp of a thing, with nearly completely white hair twisted on top of her head in a tight bun, jade earrings in her ears, and dark, sharp eyes. She was the one who opened the door when Steve knocked, and she was grinning at him, wicked and full of glee, as if she were proud of what she and her cohorts had accomplished.

“Us? _Us?_ How the hell did we bring this upon ourselves?” Tony demanded to know. Apparently Tony’s mouth was still working, and wasn’t that just great.

“Shut up Tony,” Steve moaned, shaking the rest of the static out of his brain. What the hell had they hit him with?

“Me? You want me to shut up? I don’t know if you’ve noticed this yet Cap, but we’re tied up in a basement somewhere in the middle of, oh my god, _Brooklyn!_ No one can ever find out about this! The press would have a field day!”

“What’s wrong with Brooklyn?” Steve asked. “I grew up here.”

“And that explains so much about you,” Tony said, as if that answered anything.

“Listen, you ass-face,” the old man cut in. “You got exactly what you deserved! You don’t go knocking on people’s doors in the middle of the night and not expect them to defend their homes!”

“The middle of the night? It’s seven-thirty!” Tony argued, reading the time from the display on the entertainment unit on the far war. “And is that a VCR? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Did you miss your nap today, Leo?” the Asian woman asked, choosing to ignore Tony, proving she was intelligent. “I can bring you upstairs so you can use the guest room. You know Bucky wouldn’t mind.”

“What’s wrong with VCRs?” Clint asked, proving he was not.

“You’ve always been a sweetheart, Ichika. But no. I don’t wanna miss a second of this,” Leo said. “And besides, old chicken legs over there would never let me live it down if I did.” He tilted his chin in the direction of the old woman. She responded with an even sharper grin, followed by some words in what Steve now recognized as Japanese, which caused Leo to bark something back at her in French. And Steve suddenly knew, with a sharp and embarrassing clarity, just exactly _who_ their captors were. He was never going to live this down.

And he still didn’t know the full extent of what was going on, or if they were safe. Because in spite of all the bickering, there was a gun, a Glock, in the woman of color’s right hand, that she was holding with a steady confidence. And a black metal device, that looked like a taser of some sort, in Ichika’s, which she looked just as comfortable with. Who the hell were these people? Were Bucky’s family the head of some sort of crime cartel? That was certainly going to complicate things.

“ _Oh-bay-chain?_ ” Steve tried, turning his attention to the elderly woman. She turned her dark eyes toward him, looking horrified.

“What the hell did he just say?” Leo asked.

“Were you trying to speak Japanese?” Clint asked.

“Oh my god, that was awful. Even I didn’t sound that bad when I was first learning,” the second woman scolded. “Please boy, don’t say another word.”

“You most certainly didn’t, Vera. You still have an accent, but it’s actually quite lovely to listen to you speak,” Ichika said, before turning her attention back to Steve. “I could stun him again. Stun all of them. That would probably help.”

“Please don’t,” Steve and Sam begged simultaneously.

“You’re enjoying that toy Jimmie gave you way too much, girl,” Leo said.

“Well it’s very nice,” Ichika smiled proudly. “It fits in both my purse or my pocket. It’s got a good kick too, like you saw. Absolutely no recoil either. Much better than the first version Jimmie made for me. Want to give it a try?” She held it out to him.

“ _No!_ ” every single one of Steve’s teammates shouted at once.

“We might have to,” Vera said, glancing at the clock. “It’s been a few hours and I’m starting to get worried about the boys.”

“No word from them yet?” Ichika asked, her face and voice suddenly concerned.

“No, nothing,” Vera shook her head.

“You worry too much about them,” Leo grumbled. “You know they know how to take care of themselves. They’ll be fine, Bucky’ll make sure of that.”

“He shouldn’t have to, not after everything they’ve been through already,” Vera sniffed.

“He’s tougher than old leather, that one. They all are,” Leo grinned. “Certainly tough enough and smart enough to handle these dick-lips.” From her corner, Bucky’s grandmother said something that, even though Steve couldn’t understand the words, sounded like agreement.

“Hey!” Tony just had to open his mouth. This time Steve ignored him, because his arm was starting to throb, the pull and tug on it growing tighter and tighter, telling him Bucky was close, rapidly moving closer. And just the faintest sense, the slightest hint, he was _not_ happy and out for blood. Given what little he knew of Bucky, and what he had seen of him and his _team? His brothers?_ so far…

That was not good.

Less than half a second later, the door burst open, Bucky rolling in coiled and low like a scorpion prepared to strike, a gun in each of his hands, Jimmie and Gabe right on his heels, holding weapons of their own, their eyes doing a quick and efficient sweep of the room.

“Are you alright? Anybody hurt?” He rose to his feet as silently as a specter, guns cocked and ready, his gaze sharp and determined, posing the question to not, _you know, the people beat up and tied to chairs in the living room,_ Steve couldn’t help but notice, but his family instead.

“ _Jesus-fucking-Christ!_ Don’t you boys know better than to sneak up on people like that? And here I was trying to convince your moms that you were smarter than that!” Leo shouted, just as Jackie slid into the room as slick, as silently as oil, from an unseen entrance, guns also cocked and ready in his hands.

“Sorry.” Bucky’s voice was clipped, sharp, abrupt as he did another visual sweep of the room. “Jimmie’s scans said there were nine heat signatures in the room. We wanted to come in prepared to make sure you were all alright.”

“Everyone okay?” Jimmie asked, his eyes doing the same as he and Gabe fanned outward.

“We’re fine,” Ichika assured them. “A bit startled, but fine.”

“Mom?” Gabe queried, moving to Vera’s side while keeping his gaze on Steve and his team.

“Fine baby.” Steve couldn’t help but notice for as startled as they’d been, as they’d _all_ been, Vera had kept her own gun locked on Steve in a hold that was steady and calm. “We were just starting to worry about you boys, but as you can see, we’ve got everything under control.”

“Pappi? O bachan?” Bucky asked.

“Fine. You turnip brains took three years offa my life with that last stunt, and at my age I need those, but otherwise fine,” Leo answered while Bucky’s grandmother reassured him in a sweet voice in Japanese.

“Bedroom, bathroom, laundry room all clear,” Dum Dum declared, emerging from a back doorway. “Dampener engaged, no signals getting in or out unless we want them too.”

“Perimeter clear. All possible sight lines clear, and I’ve moved their van into the garage so no one will make it,” Monty words announced his presence as he entered the house as silently as his teammates had, quietly closing and locking the door behind him. He leaned back against it, arms crossed, while Dum Dum took up position next to Leo and Jackie did the same to Bucky’s grandmother. She chattered something to him, obviously upset, but Jackie didn’t move from his spot.

“I know can take care of yourself, O bachan,” he apologized kindly, but with no remorse. “But it’s my job. Bucky wants me to make sure you’re safe.”

“As you can see, we’ve got the situation well in hand,” Ichika informed them, her expression extremely smug.

“I can…see that,” Bucky said, sounding as surprised as Steve felt, as he took another step into the room, although he never lowered his guns. Steve also couldn’t help but notice that while Bucky had changed back into the clothes he’d been wearing when they met at Coney Island, he had two more guns, automatics, hanging from shoulder holsters under his arms, and knives strapped to his forearms and upper thighs.

“ _Who the hell are you people?_ ” Tony demanded.

“What happened?” Bucky ignored him, which normally Steve would have said was the smartest course of action he could take, but he was dying to know the exact same thing.

“When we got your call, we did as you said and engaged all the security measures for the houses. We were over here doing the same thing, and to get the Furnadoes –“

“The Furnadoes? Who the hell are the Furnadoes? Are there even more of you?” Tony tried to cut Vera off.

“And that’s when _they_ showed up,” Vera spoke over him.

“We weren’t just going to let them wreck your house after all the work you’ve put into it.” Ichika added as if that explained everything. “So we took care of it.”

“We weren’t going to wreck anyone’s house! We just knocked on the door!” Tony argued.

“At seven-thirty at night! Nothing but delivery or Jehovah’s Witnesses shows up that late! And since you didn’t have any pizza boxes with you, we knew what that meant,” Leo snapped.

“We’re not Jehovah’s Witnesses!”

“Don’t lie to me boy, I know what Jehovah’s Witnesses look like. You knock on the door as polite as you please, ask to come in, and then once you’re inside you never leave!”

“We’re the Avengers!”

“The what now?”

“The Avengers, you old –“

“You better think very carefully about the next words that come out of your mouth,” Bucky cut Tony off, the gun in his left hand pointed dead center at Tony’s forehead. Having witnessed for himself what Bucky was capable of when using a gun, Steve knew he wouldn’t miss. Thankfully while the gun remained steady and still, Bucky turned his attention back to the rest of his family. “How did you manage to do that?”

“ _Pfft._ It was easy,” Ichika went on as if it were obvious. “We had okaasan distract them while we snuck up from behind and knocked them out.”

“ _How?_ ” Bucky asked, his eyes, along with those of every member of his team wide with shock. Steve had to admit it was a good question; he wanted to know the exact same thing.

“I clocked that one over there with a baseball bat,” Vera pointed at Sam.

“I got the ugly one with good ol’ Sally,” Leo picked up the cane resting by his chair and pointed it at Clint.

“ _Hey!_ ” Clint objected.

“Knocked him out cold.”

“Really?” Dum Dum asked, looking proud. “It wasn’t too heavy for you?”

“Best cane I ever had,” Leo shared his grin. “Light enough for me to use, but she swings nice and easy when I need her to. Did I ever thank you for making her for me, boy?”

“You’re more than welcome, Pappi. I’m glad you like her. It was the first one I ever made, you know.”

“You did good son,” Leo nodded at him. “Nice work. You’ll go far.”

“Thanks, Pappi.”

“And the rest of them?” Bucky asked.

Yua began to speak, pointing at Natasha with one hand while digging through the couch with her other, until she found what she was looking for and lifted a cast iron skillet from beneath the cushions.

“I will never live this down,” Natasha murmured, while from Yua’s side Jackie cackled and nodded in approval.

“And I took care of the other two with this,” Ichika finished, holding up her stun gun.

“How’d it work?” Jimmie asked her eagerly.

“Like a dream,” Ichika smiled at him. “The targeting system you added was perfect. Knocked the two of them out instantaneously.”

“How long were they down for?” Jimmie wanted to know.

“About three hours. Didn’t come to until about twenty minutes ago. But I turned up the voltage all the way just to be safe, and it knocked the both of them out cold.”

“Jesus Christ Okaasan! That’s the setting for the Hulk!”

“Really?” Ichika squinted at the panel. “I just figured it’d be best if I used the strongest level. I doubt he even felt it.”

“Oh I felt it,” Steve insisted on letting them know.

“But he’s fine,” Ichika waved her hand at him, “the back of his neck might be a little crispy –“

“And his brains scrambled, what little he had to begin with,” Leo made sure to interject.

“But he’s _fine,_ ” Ichika finished. “I mean, I can do it again if you want to see for yourselves.” She tapped her thumb along the side of the device, causing it to shimmer.

“ _No!_ ” every single one of Steve’s teammates shouted once again.

“We’re definitely going to have to up the amp on the next version,” Gabe sighed, while Ichika lowered the stun gun with a disappointed sigh.

“While figuring out a way to not mess up the recharge rate,” Jimmie agreed. “Still, that was enough voltage to take down an elephant and it only knocked him out for three hours.”

“You’re designing weapons to take down the Hulk? Who the hell are you people?” Tony tried again.

“And then what?” Once again, Bucky ignored Tony.

“Well, we were going to bring them back to my house, but they were too heavy for us to carry,” Vera explained. “So we dragged them down here instead, patted them down for weapons and then decided to tie them up so they couldn’t go anywhere until we heard from you. Sorry about taking over your apartment, Dum Dum, but it was closest and the only thing we could think of.”

“Don’t worry about it, Auntie Vera,” Dum Dum waved off her apology.

“Did we do okay?” Vera asked.

“You did great, Mom,” Gabe smiled at her, before glancing at the Glock in her hand. “And how’s that feeling? Your grip looks nice and steady.”

“It’s good,” she nodded, before removing the magazine, checking the chamber was clear and handing the gun over grip first to Gabe. “All that practice you boys insisted on really helped.”

“We just wanted to make sure you always know how to protect yourselves.” Gabe handed the gun to Dum Dum, while Bucky and Jimmie nodded.

“You know how much we worry whenever one of you has to stay late at work,” Jimmie added while Dum Dum slid the magazine back into place, keeping the gun loaded and ready at his side.

“Silly boys,” Ichika smiled. “You worry too much.”

“It’s our job to make sure you’re safe,” Bucky said, making a circle of the room, checking their restraints, making sure they were secure, before coming to a stop behind the chair Natasha was tied to, her eyes narrowing as she grew even stiller in response. “I would never forgive myself if something happened to any of you on our watch.”

“I dealt with gators while down in Louisiana, boy. I know how to take care of my family,” Leo snapped.

“I know. And then you cooked him up and ate him. You know it’s still my favorite story ever, right Pappi?” The smile Bucky turned in his grandfather’s direction was full of love, pride and adoration. But then his expression grew serious, intense, sharp. “Now the only question is, what are we going to do with them?”

“Well I ain’t eating these fuckers. They’d just give me gas.”

“Untying us might be a good place to start,” Steve suggested, trying to catch Bucky’s eye.

“Yes, that. I vote for that,” Clint agreed.

“We could feed them to the Hunter and Hope,” Jackie offered, proving once again anything Steve or his teammates said was going to be ignored.

“Nah, that would just make them sick,” Bucky shook his head.

“My church is having a potluck next week. We could cut them up and make chili out of them. We spice it up enough, no one’ll be able to tell the difference,” Vera shrugged.

“ _What the hell is wrong with you people?_ ” Sam demanded.

“Bury them in the backyard?” Ichika offered.

“Digging graves is a pain,” Dum Dum disagreed. “And there’re five of them. Bucky’s backyard isn’t big enough for five graves.”

“And I finally got mom’s hydrangeas to bloom this year. Do you know how long it took me to figure out the right soil composition to get those fuckers to bloom?” Bucky said.

“We could always drop their bodies off somewhere,” Monty suggested. “No one would even notice if five more bodies showed up in Jersey.”

“That’s ‘cos it’s Jersey,” Bucky grumbled.

“Blow them up?” Jackie offered.

“Or split the difference. Drive them out to Jersey and _then_ blow them up,” was Dum Dum’s contribution.

“That might work,” Jimmie nodded.

“Yes, that. Let’s do that,” Jackie grinned.

“Let’s _not_ do that, if you please,” Sam argued.

“You just want to blow more shit up, Jacks.” Bucky glanced a him. “I mean, even I have to admit the lube bombs were awesome, but haven’t you met your quota for the week?”

“ _Lube bombs?_ ” Clint asked.

“One of his best creations ever,” Bucky answered. “Only three components. Lightbulbs, lube and twizzlers.”

“Really?” Clint’s eyes were wide.

“ _Clint!_ ” Sam snapped.

“What?” Clint shrugged, or at least he tried to, but the shackles on his wrists made it look more like he was hiccupping. “Lube bombs sound awesome!”

“They were,” Gabe agreed. “Easy to conceal, quick to ignite, but with a nice, slow spread ‘cos of the lube.”

“I wonder if the cows felt the same way about it,” Jimmie said.

“From all the mooing as we were driving away, they sounded happy enough,” Monty smiled.

“Never mind the cows. Can you just imagine what the owner of that farm must’ve thought when he got up the next morning to milk them?” Bucky asked, making milking gestures with both his hands, followed by squelching noises.

“It was probably the easiest milking he ever did,” Dum Dum laughed.

“I bet he kept wondering why all the cows were lining up so eager to get their tits squeezed,” Monty snorted.

“And why his bull was passed out in the corner,” Gabe snickered.

“I still wouldn’t want to drink that milk though,” Jimmie joined in.

“Oh god no,” Bucky made a face, but there was laughter in his eyes.

“Wait a minute,” Leo interjected. “Are you telling me when you boys disappeared last Sunday it was to drive off to some farmer’s field in Jersey and set off lube bombs in front of a bunch of cows?”

“Um, yeah?” Bucky admitted, looking somewhat sheepish. _(Or was it cowish? Steve couldn’t help but wonder.)_

“And you didn’t think to bring your Pappi with you? After I got up early just to make beignets for your hungover asses?”

From her corner of the couch, Yua said something that made it obvious she was just as upset as Leo was about being left behind.

“Sorry, sorry,” Bucky apologized. “But it was a long drive, and you know how your knees act up if you have to sit still in a car for too long Pappi.”

“Hmmph,” Leo crossed his arms, not looking pacified in the least.

“Next year we’ll bring you along, I promise,” Bucky conceded.

“Um, can I come next year too?”

“ _Clint!_ ” Sam snapped yet again.

“What?” Clint asked innocently. “They made bombs out of lube and candy, and then drove to a field in Jersey to blow them up in front of a bunch of cows. Are you telling me you don’t want in on that next time?”

“No, because unlike everyone else in this room, I’m _not_ crazy!” Sam argued.

Clint muttered something that sounded like _‘Debatable’_ under his breath.

“I hate to admit it, but I’m kind of curious too,” Tony’s brow was furrowed. “I mean, the components are viable, but how do you control the ignition rate, or predict the blast radius? Were any of the cows hurt?”

_“Tony!”_ Poor Sam. Steve really wanted to hand him one of his antacids, if he could, you know, move his hands. Which he still couldn’t. _(Which, Steve hated to admit it, was kind of sexy. Bucky and his team were extremely competent, and watching Bucky take charge of the situation, along with the restraints, was starting to ‘do things’ to his body.)_

“You’ll never figure it out,” Bucky informed him. “Jacks is an absolute genius when it comes to explosions and demolition.”

“Raid Bombs,” Clint agreed.

“Thanks,” Jackie beamed.

“I’m beginning to realize that,” Tony nodded. “And then there was whatever he used,” he tilted his chin in Jimmie’s direction, “to interfere with the frequency controlling the swarm, never mind shut down my suit.” He turned his attention toward Gabe. “And let’s not forget that gun you were wielding. Design those yourselves, did you?”

“Yeah, so?” Jimmie asked, while Gabe crossed his arms.

“So who are you working for? And even more importantly, why aren’t you working for me? That’s what I want to know.”

“Oh please,” Jimmie snorted. “As if we’d ever work for Stark Industries.”

“Seriously,” Gabe grumbled in agreement.

“Who is it then? Did Obadiah try to get his hands on you before I could?” Tony asked.

“As if we’d ever work for that scumbag,” Jimmie said. “We work for Pym Technologies.”

“Pym Technologies?” Tony nearly shrieked. “ _Hank Pym?_ You work for that _nutjob_ instead of me? What the hell could he possibly offer you that Stark Industries couldn’t?”

“Complete creative freedom and control, for starters,” Jackie informed him.

“Better benefits and more vacation time for another,” Jimmie added.

“He also makes sure any vets he hires have access to any resources we may need, while never penalizing us for making use of them,” Gabe concluded.

“Stark Industries has all that too, and I can guarantee you I pay better!” Tony sounded insulted.

“He also doesn’t take credit for anything his employees come up with either,” Jimmie stated.

“Neither do I!”

“Quentin Beck and BARF,” Gabe retorted.

“Okay look, that was a unique situation, and since Beck ended up being a lunatic, I don’t think he’s a fair example.”

“Just like Celeste Thompson, right?” Jimmie sneered.

“Are you trying to tell me I should have hired _that_ crackpot?”

“No,” Jimmie shook his head. “Only pointing out that Stark Industries tends to attract the attention of some very dangerous people. Unlike Hank, who’s doing everything he can to ensure the safety of the world, especially since he knows, better than anyone, what you’re capable of, especially after Sokovia. It needed to happen, we all know that, but he wanted a failsafe, just in case. And _that’s_ somebody we want to work for, not the _‘Merchant of Death.’_ ”

“Former Merchant of Death! _Former!_ ” Tony insisted. “And what do you mean _just in case?_ ”

“How are those cuffs doing, by-the-way?” Jimmie said instead of answering. “Not too tight, are they? Nothing any of you have tried has worked, has it?”

“Your design?” Tony asked. Gabe and Jimmie both nodded. “You need to come work for me, because I can –“

“Never mind that,” Bucky interjected from where he remained crouched behind Natasha’s chair, cutting off what was obviously going to be another rant from Tony. “I want to know which one of you tied up the Black Widow like this, because this is some nice ropework, and she hasn’t managed to get herself free yet.”

“That would be Yua,” Ichika said, reminding everyone there were still other people there.

“O bachan?” Bucky asked.

“When Gabe called, he warned us the redhead was the one we’d have to watch out for,” Vera began to explain. “When I told everyone that, Yua said not to worry, that she’d take care of her. Once we dragged her body down here, she pulled some rope out from her purse and started tying her up. Never seen anything like it, but she insisted she knew what she was doing, and as you can see, it seems to have worked.”

“Hontoni O bachan?” Bucky turned towards his grandmother.

“Hai Bucky-chan,” Yua beamed at him

“She always has known her way around some knots,” Leo interjected.

“What?” Everyone’s attention was suddenly on Leo.

“Oh yeah,” Leo nodded. “She goes slow, but her hands are always smooth and steady when she ties me up. Tight enough without being too tight, but you always feel secure when she does it, and you can’t get away no matter how much you struggle.”

“ _What?_ ” Jimmie had suddenly gone very, very pale.

“That right there, that’s called a full-length Karada, and it’s one of the most complicated ties you can use for bondage,” Leo explained with a nod in Natasha’s direction. “Impossible to get out of too, until she decides to let you go. Or you safe-word.”

“ _Safe-word?_ ” Jimmie squeaked.

“How-how do you know this, Pappi?” Gabe was obviously horrified.

“How do you think?” Leo stared at Gabe as if he were an idiot. “I mean, she may be a crazy old bat with chicken legs, but at night she’s my bae.”

“ _Ha!_ Told you!” Bucky crowed, turning to Dum Dum, Jackie and Monty. “Y’all owe me three hundred bucks each! Now pay up,” just as Jimmie shook his head, blurted out, “Nope!” and started storming toward the door.

“Dammit Sarge,” Dum Dum grumbled, reaching for his wallet along with Jackie and Monty.

“You…you knew about this Bucky?” Gabe sounded shocked.

“Of course I did,” Bucky huffed. “You spend as many nights sitting on the porch trying to calm down from a nightmare as I do and you end up learning a lot about what goes on in the neighborhood. And you were never as stealthy as you thought, Pappi. I’ve seen you creeping into their house plenty of nights. And where do you think you’re going Jimmie? Get your ass back here! We’re not done yet!”

“I’m going to do a perimeter check!” Jimmie shouted from somewhere above them. “And to get some goddamned brain-bleach!”

“You got five minutes!” Bucky shouted back.

“And make sure you bring back enough of that brain bleach for me!” Gabe added. “Because that was a mental image I did _not_ need.”

“You’re not the only one,” Sam mumbled.

“Oh please, grow up,” Leo scolded. “Do you think just ‘cos you get old you stop having sex? Some things may stop working, but not everything does. And I’ve never had any problems with little Pappito over here.”

“Oh god,” Gabe moaned while Yua added her contribution to the conversation in Japanese. Whatever it was, it caused Bucky to snort and Gabe’s moan to grow louder.

“What did she say?” Steve needed to know.

“She said that while his spine may be crooked, his dick never was. And that it’s certainly not small,” Bucky laughed.

“You just had to ask, didn’t you?” Sam hissed at him.

“Oh god. Where’s Jimmie?” Gabe begged.

“I love this family so much,” Monty sighed happily.

“Me too,” Clint chimed in.

“She’s my little dumpling,” Leo smiled, before he turned back to Bucky. “And half that money’s mine. I’m the one who worked for it.”

“A third of it’s yours.” Bucky did a quick count of the bills in his hand, before he divided the pile into three, handing the first stack to Yua, who, to most of the room’s mortification, shoved it into her bra. “O bachan helped too.”

“Will you shut up Bucky?” Gabe growled. “Please, I’m begging you.”

“How do you think you came into this world Gabriel?” Leo asked, as he took the money from Bucky’s outstretched hand. “We didn’t just find you in a cabbage patch in the backyard, you know.”

“And we don’t kink-shame in this house,” Ichika interjected.

“We raised you better than that,” Vera added. “And if Bucky’s not bothered by it, why should you be?”

“I want to know why he isn’t,” Gabe glared at Bucky.

“Because it’s O bachan and Pappi,” Bucky shrugged as if it were obvious. “After I came out, she was the one who taught me how to put a condom on.”

“I thought Winnie took care of that,” Ichika turned towards Bucky. “She always used to say, soulmate or not, that she wanted to make sure you knew how to be safe.”

“Oh no, Ma did,” Bucky nodded. “And she was very thorough, had an answer for any question I had. But O bachan was the one who taught me how to put one on just using my lips.”

“Does anyone need to shoot something? Because I desperately need to be shooting something right now,” Gabe moaned, covering his face with his hands.

“How?” The tilt of Monty’s head made him look like a very confused dog; in spite of himself, Steve found he was pretty damned curious too. _(And still very turned on, because the mental image on Bucky on his knees, his hands clasped behind his back, just using his lips…)_

“We practiced using cucumbers,” Bucky shrugged. _(…was suddenly not so sexy anymore.)_

“You used my cucumbers to practice giving blow jobs?” Ichika looked horrified.

“Will you please stop?” Gabe begged.

“They were the right shape and size,” Bucky paused, suddenly realizing he was on the receiving end of matching glares from Ichika, Vera and Gabe. “What? We ate them with lunch when we were done.”

“Okaasan!” Ichika sputtered in response to whatever Yua contributed while Gabe groaned some more.

“What did she say?” Steve needed to know.

“She said that’s also why Bucky doesn’t have a gag reflex now,” Jackie gleefully translated.

“Are they done?” Jimmie shouted from somewhere at the top of the stairs.

“Yeah, they’re done!” Gabe called _(lied)_ right back.

“And then after, Pappi took me dancing. Made sure I understood it was all about the hips,” Bucky continued.

“A nice slow steady roll always leaves them with a smile on their faces,” Leo grinned.

“I ain’t never had a single complaint Pappi, so thanks for that,” Bucky returned his grin.

“ _You liar!_ ” Jimmie accused from the doorway just as Hunter and Hope pushed their way past his legs, bounding toward Bucky. “You said they were done! You’re my brother Gabe! I trusted you.”

“If I have to hear this, so do you!” Gabe shot back just as Bucky holstered his weapons and reached down for his dogs.

“Hey guys, how’s it going? Yeah, yeah, yeah, I missed you too,” Bucky was back to smiling the grin Steve remembered from that morning as he showered his dogs with affection, who barked at him happily in response. “Why’d you bring the dogs down?”

“They were starting to whine. I knew they weren’t going to stop until they saw you again,” Jimmie explained, although he didn’t look any less upset than when he first left.

“I don’t know, I haven’t been able to stop whining for the past five minutes,” Gabe complained.

“You have dogs?” Clint’s voice suddenly drowned out everyone else’s, his eyes narrowed as he turned toward Steve. “You never said he had dogs!”

“Given the situation, I didn’t think it was important,” Steve argued.

“Didn’t think it was important? Didn’t think it was important?” Clint accused. “Steve, it’s the _most important thing!_ Had I known I’d’ve brought Lucky. They could have had a playdate!”

“Clint!” Sam was back to hissing, but then he stopped, staring at Hunter. “Wait a minute? Does one of those dogs only have three legs?”

“That’s Hunter,” Bucky explained, ruffling Hunter’s ears. “He’s a vet too. Lost it protecting his handler when their convoy was attacked.”

“Oh my god,” Clint gasped.

“He’s a good boy,” Bucky smiled down at his dog. “And yeah, I haven’t forgotten about you either Hope.” Bucky switched his attentions to his other dog. “You’re a good girl too. Now,” Bucky paused to step back slightly, and tapped her flank twice before he began gesturing with his hands. “Good. Now, Hunter, Hope, corner, lie down.”

“You’re signing to your dog?” Clint practically squeaked as the dogs obeyed Bucky’s command and settled themselves in a bed placed next to the couch.

“Well yeah, Hope’s deaf,” Bucky told him. “How else was I supposed to communicate with her?”

“And she understands you?” Sam asked, his frustration replaced with curiosity.

“Of course she does,” Bucky stared at him. “Just because she can’t hear doesn’t mean you can’t find ways to communicate with her.”

“How many commands does she know?” Clint asked.

“About fifty so far, but she learns more every day. She’s super, super smart,” Bucky beamed.

“And you named her Hope?” Sam asked.

“What else was I going to call her?” Bucky asked, his eyes soft and warm as he smiled down at his dogs. “I mean, just look at her. She’s everything you could ever hope for in a dog.”

“You have one dog with three legs, and another who’s deaf, that you named Hope and taught sign language to,” Clint was muttering to himself under his breath, his eyes locked on Bucky as he continued to praise Hunter and Hope in sign language. He repeated the words a few more times, before he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Right,” he said with a decisive nod, coming to some sort of conclusion. “Hello, my name is Clinton Francis Barton, and I don’t know what Steve over here may have told you, but I’m your soulmate.”

“ _Clint!_ ” It was Steve’s turn to shout.

“What?” Clint asked. “Sorry dude, but look. He has awesome dogs, one of which he taught sign-language to. I have Lucky, also the most awesomest of awesome dogs, who’s blind in one eye. And I’m also deaf in my left ear, and mostly in my right,” Clint tilted his head so everyone could see the small, purple hearing aids he nearly always wore, “so I already know sign language. And he knows where to go to get the best Mexican food in the entire city. I love Mexican food. That tells me it was meant to be.”

“I think Natasha might have something to say about that, don’t you?” Steve asked, glancing toward her. She wasn’t paying any attention to their conversation however; her eyes were drawn to the floor by the door through which Jimmie entered. Following her gaze, Steve saw what had her so captivated.

It was a cat. Or maybe a small mountain lion of some sort. Whatever it was, it was definitely feline, with the thickest and lushest coat of silver and black Steve had ever seen. It was slinking its way slowly into the room, sniffing the air and carefully taking in its surroundings, before it saw Bucky and began to make its way over to him on silent feet.

“ _Who is that?_ ” Natasha breathed at the same time as Sam said, “That is the biggest fucking cat I have ever seen.”

“That’s Athena.” Bucky stepped away from his dogs and extended his arm towards his cat. She easily jumped and climbed up onto his shoulders, settling herself there with a soft little meow that turned into a deep, rumbling purr whose vibrations even Steve could feel from where he was sitting.

“Hey gorgeous,” Bucky cooed, pressing a kiss to her ruff while he scritched her ear with his left hand. “Where’s your little sister?”

“Here she is,” Monty said, just as a second cat scampered into the room, skidding to a stop at Bucky’s feet. In direct contrast to Athena, she was a tiny little thing, barely bigger than his palm, most of her size from her fur, which was just as fluffy as her sister’s, but black and white instead of silver and black. She had bright green eyes, and the cutest tufts of pale fluff sticking out of her ears, which were flicking back and forth while she licked her ass for a few seconds before turning all her attention back toward Bucky.

“What’s her name?” Natasha asked.

“Wait for it…” Jackie said softly, just an instant before -

_“BWUUUUUAAAAAAAAAM!”_

\- that tiny little cat made a noise that practically rattled the windows.

“Holy shit! What the _fuck_ was that?” Tony asked, jerking as much as he could from where he was still tied to his chair.

“That was Tuba,” Bucky laughed as he bent down to scoop up his second cat into the cradle of his arms. She settled as easily as a baby, belly exposed, her eyes narrowing into slits while she joined her big sister in her purrs.

“Tuba?” Natasha looked the way most little girls must look on Christmas mornings when they found the dollhouse they had been dreaming of waiting for them under the tree.

“Yeah, Tuba,” Bucky rocked his tiny cat with the loud meows carefully in his arms, while Athena remained draped over his shoulders. “But don’t let her meow fool you. She’s a sweetheart, both of them are. Hunter found them under my car at the beginning of winter last year. The poor little things were just babies, trying to keep warm, probably starving too. I couldn’t just leave them out there.”

“I agree with Clint, Steve. You’re not good enough for him,” Natasha decreed with a nod.

“ _Hey!”_

“Me, on the other hand, I _love_ cats. And I’m very flexible,” Natasha spoke directly to Bucky. “I was also the one who convinced him to stop sucking on his socks and start eating some real food.”

_“Hey!”_

“I took him for _borscht_ , _pelmeni_ and _blini_. If it wasn’t for me, he’d still be living on those shakes of his.”

“That was you?” Bucky asked. “Oh man, thank you so much for that. That shit was nasty. You know I thought he was a gym rat at first, right?”

“Well, you’re not completely wrong,” Natasha tried to shrug as much as possible, given she was still tied up.

_“Hey!”_

“Do you know when I first started feeling our Sense, I cooked him my father’s cioppino, and the jerk didn’t even notice?” Bucky ignored Steve and approached Natasha, shifting Tuba in his arms to carefully place her in Natasha’s lap. She made another one of her honks of protest before she began circling, until she finally decided Natasha’s thighs were an acceptable perch and settled herself, curling up into a little ball of fluff.

“He did _what?_ ” Jimmie asked. “You never told us that.”

“You made him your pop’s cioppino and he just ignored it?” Gabe asked. “That stuff is amazing! No wonder you were so pissed off at the beginning.”

“I’m not surprised,” Natasha crinkled her nose. “He’s an American who grew up during the Depression. What would he know of good food? Us Russians, on the other hand, we know how to make a good meal that sticks to your ribs.”

“And vodka,” Monty added.

“That too,” Natasha nodded, smiling down at the cat in her lap. “It helps to keep us warm during the winter.”

“I love Russian food,” Bucky was smiling. “Spent six months in Omsk once, and it was some of the best food I’ve ever eaten.”

“There are some great restaurants in Omsk,” Natasha agreed.

“Lugovskaya Sloboda was my favorite,” Bucky said.

“Did you have their ukha?” she asked.

“Oh my god. _So good._ ”

“I know right? I _crave_ it sometimes.”

“Me too.”

“I hate to be the one to interrupt this culinary trip down memory lane, but the fact remains that even though he has dogs and cats, and knows about some weird Russian food the rest of us have never heard of, the guy and his team are still mercs,” Tony just had to interrupt.

“So?” Natasha shrugged.

“ _What?_ ” Jimmie and Gabe asked.

“We’re not mercs!” Bucky jerked in Tony’s direction.

“You’re not?” Steve couldn’t help the relief he felt hearing Bucky confirm it.

“Is that what you thought?” Bucky glared at him.

“I mean, well, with the weapons and the guns and all, and then you refusing to tell me what you did for a living,” Steve tried to shrug. “I wasn’t really sure what to think.”

“The weapons and the guns and all was because I was in the Army, you punk,” Bucky snapped at him. “We all were.”

“Oh really?” Tony still sounded unconvinced.

“For seven years. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th, leader of the Howling Commandos,” Bucky stood at full attention _(which, okay, was making certain parts of Steve’s body feel all tingly again)_. “Best damned unit out there until our last mission went tits up because we were betrayed.”

“So?” Tony cut in. “Just because they were in the army once doesn’t mean they’re on our side now. Plenty of mercs were former military.”

“We haven’t been in the Army for the past two years. The only reason we showed up is ‘cos our former CO called us in on it, and we owed him a favor,” Bucky snapped.

“Yeah, but you still made sure to grab and run off with that tech before any of us could get our hands on it. What are you planning to do with it? Deliver it to Pym? Sell it to the highest bidder?” Tony pressed, while Bucky and every member of his team looked mortified by the idea.

“He’s not wrong about that Bucky,” Steve hated to admit. “And I really need to know what you’ve done with it.”

“We destroyed it, you idiot!”

“You did?”

“Of course we did! Philips gave me the go ahead to do whatever I thought best. I knew we couldn’t run the risk of it falling into someone else’s hands, so we drove out to Jersey where I ordered Jackie to make sure every last component was incinerated.”

“ _Boom._ ” Jackie splayed his hands. “All gone.”

“What is it with you New Yorkers and hating Jersey so much?” Sam asked.

“It’s _Jersey,_ ” Bucky, Gabe, Jimmie and Steve all said simultaneously.

“You swear it Bucky?” Steve had to ask one last time.

“Course I do. Did you actually think we were mercs?” Bucky looked insulted.

“Or an AIM cell,” Natasha shrugged.

“No,” Steve shook his head. “I really didn’t. But you guys came in out of nowhere, hard and fast, and I had to be sure.”

“That’s because we’re damned good at our jobs,” Monty sniffed.

“You’re great at them. But some advanced notice, or a little bit of teamwork might have been nice,” Steve admitted.

“There wasn’t time for that,” Bucky shrugged, “and we needed a distraction. You were getting your asses kicked, so we decided to use that.”

“Gee thanks,” Sam muttered.

“It’s what I would have done,” Natasha said.

“So you’re still active?” Steve asked.

“God no,” Bucky shook his head. “After the way we were screwed over, we all agreed we weren’t going to re-up. This was just because we owed Philips a favor.”

“Then what is it that you do? Why all the secrecy?” Steve wanted to know.

“Because I was worried once you did find out who I was, you and your entire team would show up on my block and start terrorizing my family. And _oh look,_ I was right,” Bucky gestured around the room.

“Um, I don’t think your family are the ones being terrorized here,” Sam said.

“And I’m a translator, which I would have told you, if you’d have given me a few more minutes!” Bucky ignored him.

“A translator?” Steve repeated.

“Yes, a translator. I work part time at the UN, part time with private clients, mostly high-end businessmen, and part time with a few publishing houses.”

“How many languages do you speak?” Natasha looked way too interested for Steve’s liking, especially after the way she had stared at him after she discovered he had cats.

“Sixteen,” Bucky answered.

“Sixteen?” Natasha murmured. Steve had no doubt she was doing a running tally of all the languages she spoke, trying to determine which one of them spoke more.

“Wait a minute, since when?” Jimmie wanted to know. “’Cos the last time I checked, you could only speak thirteen.”

“Well, I had to learn sign language for Hope,” Bucky turned toward him. “And then I was getting bored, so I decided to try my hand at Greek and Polish.” His words were met with blank stares. “What?” he shrugged, “it’s not like it’s hard.”

“Not like it’s hard,” Gabe rolled his eyes.

“This is exactly like Ireland, isn’t it?” Jimmie accused.

“What do you mean?” Bucky asked.

“One day it was all, _‘Oh hey, you know, Gaelic is a really lovely and complex language, maybe I’ll look into studying it,’_ and then three months later we’re in Dublin and you’re speaking it like a native,” Jimmie grumbled

“Oh yeah, I forgot about the Gaelic. I guess that brings it up to seventeen.”

“Forgot about the Gaelic,” Jimmie shook his head.

“And I didn’t hear you complaining when Blaithin invited us back to her granny’s house for some colcannon.”

“I wasn’t gonna, ‘cos it was fucking delicious, alright? But it’s still fucking weird how you can just pick up languages the way you do,” Jimmie sounded exasperated.

“He’s a true polygot,” Vera said to Steve. “He was fluent in not only English, but French, Japanese, and Spanish by the time he was eight.”

“It is kinda weird Bucky,” Gabe admitted.

“You’re telling me this when the two of you designed and built a miniature flying car when we were nine,” Bucky countered.

“Flying car? You guys managed to build a car that can actually fly?” Steve asked.

“What is it with you and the flying cars?” Tony wanted to know.

“It was awesome!” Bucky smiled. “Remote controlled, with a self-sustaining power source.”

“We’re working on a larger version now for Hank,” Gabe said.

“Why aren’t you working for me?” Tony whined. Proving they were all intelligent men, they ignored him.

“And why are we still tied up? That’s what I want to know?” Proving they were not so intelligent, they ignored Sam too. Well, all of them except for Bucky.

“This one’s still tied up ‘cos he ran off on me in the middle of our first date!” He pointed his finger at Steve.

“He didn’t!” Ichika sounded horrified.

“He did,” Bucky nodded. “And then he threatened Gabe with his shield.”

“ _What?_ ” Vera asked, as all eyes turned Steve’s way. “You threatened one of our babies with your shield?”

“Bucky tried to shoot me!” Steve tried to defend himself.

“I shot at your feet, you big drama queen. Stop lying.”

“That was my favorite part.”

“Thanks Sam,” Steve shot back.

“Mine too,” Tony added.

“That’s ‘cos you’re an asshole, Tony,” Steve snapped.

“Me? I’m the asshole? I’m not the one sitting here tied up in front of my soulmate’s family with a boner!” The room was suddenly so quiet you could have heard a pin drop.

“Do you seriously have a boner right now?” Sam asked, as everyone’s eyes turned toward his crotch.

“No!” _(He totally did.)_

“Oh my god, he does!” Clint announced.

“You totally have a competency boner right now, don’t you?” Sam accused.

“Or maybe he likes being tied up,” Leo just had to cut in. “Can’t say that I blame him.”

“Not anymore I don’t,” Steve mumbled. ( _And he never would again, he realized, as Bucky’s grandmother leaned forward in her seat, squinting at him._ )

“It’s definitely the handcuffs. Being tied to a chair like that really gets the blood pumping, doesn’t it boy?” Leo leered.

“Pappi!” Gabe cried.

“Well, at least Bucky had a chance to practice on cucumbers before they met,” Ichika said.

“ _Okaasan!_ ” It was Jimmie’s turn.

“What? It’s the truth,” she shrugged.

“Shoot me again. Please, I’m begging you Bucky,” Steve pleaded.

“I’m seriously thinking about it.”

“Nah, too messy,” Dum Dum shook his head. “I still think we should feed them to the dogs.”

“We could just feed them some of that surströmming, if Bucky has any of it left,” Monty suggested.

“ _No!_ ” It was Bucky’s family’s turn to shout.

“Or make them watch _Spice World._ I always want to kill myself after the first five minutes,” Jackie said.

“Dammit Jackie! What the _hell_ is wrong with you?” Dum Dum shouted.

“What? I’m just sayin’, is all,” Jackie shrugged.

“What the hell is _Spice World_?” Steve asked.

“What the hell is _Spice World?_ ” Bucky looked aghast.

“It’s only the best movie ever made!” Jimmie chimed in.

_“Oh dear lord, it begins,”_ Monty moaned into his hands.

“Yeah, and that’s only because Scary Spice saved the whole movie,” Gabe interjected.

“Bullshit! Everyone knows it was Sporty!” Bucky turned toward him.

“Jackie, you bloody twat! As soon as you close your eyes, I swear to god I’m going to murder you in your sleep,” Monty swore.

“Well, this is going to take a while,” Vera announced, looking around the room. “I’m going to go upstairs and start making something for dinner.”

“I’ll help,” Ichika said, following her.

“What’s going on?” Steve wanted to know, while Bucky, Gabe and Jimmie continued to argue with each other, this time debating the merits of something called Posh Spice.

“What’s going on? What’s going on?” Dum Dum repeated. “What’s going on is that asshole over there got them started on the stupidest argument you could possibly imagine.”

“They’ve been having it for years,” Monty added.

“It was just a suggestion,” Jackie shrugged.

“Jackie,” Dum Dum turned on him. “You know once they get started it’ll take them hours before they stop.”

“And only then because they’ve fallen asleep,” Monty said.

“Is it really that bad?” Steve asked.

“You don’t understand,” Dum Dum looked as if he was speaking of horrors no human should have ever had to witness. “They have PowerPoint presentations, and flowcharts –“

“A statistical analysis of all the reviews on Rotten Tomatoes,” Monty interjected.

“That they saved to the cloud so they could download it whenever one of them needs to prove a point,” Dum Dum moaned.

“We’re going to be here for hours,” Monty practically wept.

“Really?” Steve asked.

“You’ll see,” was all Dum Dum would say.

Forty minutes later, Steve understood why Dum Dum looked so horrified when Jackie mentioned _Spice World_. Bucky, Jimmie and Gabe were indeed still arguing who was the best Spice Girl, followed by counterarguments as to why the speaker was wrong, followed by, _yes_ , PowerPoint presentations and flowcharts they’d downloaded to their phones to prove why each of them was right and the others wrong. It had been forty minutes of shouting, handwaving, and enough comparative analysis Steve was actually starting to miss the long, boring briefings Fury used to insist he attend. He knew more about the girl group The Spice Girls than anyone could possibly want, his ass was numb, and he was still tied to his chair.

Also, his nose was starting to itch.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, he was not alone, and from all appearances everyone else was suffering as much as he was. Tony’s eyes had long since glazed over and he was staring blankly at a worn patch of carpeting. Sam was rocking back and forth, as much as his own bonds would allow, begging them to stop. Natasha’s eyes were closed, and Steve could hear her taking deep, cleansing breaths in an effort not to scream, ( _Steve could totally understand)._ Clint was watching the dogs, trying to catch their attention, only to be disappointed when they padded off upstairs, followed by the cats. Dum Dum, Jackie and Monty were sitting at the kitchen table in the middle of a game of cards. Yua had long since disappeared, after spending a good five minutes squishing his pecs _(Steve wanted to follow his erection and die, but no such luck)_. And Leo, perhaps the luckiest of them all, was snoring from his chair.

Very, very loudly.

Steve was wondering if he could wiggle enough to tip his own chair over, hopefully hard enough to knock himself out when he landed, when Bucky finally, _finally_ said, “And that’s why Sporty Spice is the most important Spice Girl.”

“Bullshit!” Jimmie snapped. “Just admit it Bucky, you’ve never been able to give Posh the credit she deserves ever since she started dating David Beckham and stole your man crush from you. You never thought she was good enough for him!”

“Well she’s not!” Bucky argued.

“He was never going to date you, Bucky! I mean, I love you man, but even you have to admit you just don’t have the right parts,” Jimmie shot right back.

“I’ve always been partial to Ginger,” Clint apparently had come to the conclusion if you couldn’t beat them, you might as well join them.

“Ginger?” All three of them abandoned their current argument to focus on Clint.

“What can I say?” Clint shrugged, before he glanced at Natasha. “I gotta thing for redheads.” Seeing the three of them each taking a deep breath, Clint obviously decided to switch tactics. “And so does Steve!”

“What?” Bucky asked, immediately deflating.

“ _What?_ ” Steve asked, just as shocked as Bucky was, since that was certainly news to him.

“He totally has a crush on Pepper!” Sam, the worst friend in the world, betrayed him.

“Pepper Potts, the CEO of Stark Industries?” Bucky asked. “That Pepper Potts?”

“I do not!” Steve argued.

“Oh you so do,” Clint argued right back.

“We can all see it Steve,” Natasha nodded.

“You get all giggly and bashful whenever she smiles at you,” Sam added.

“That’s just because she’s always been so nice to me,” Steve tried to explain himself.

“I knew it!” Tony growled. “Even though you have a soulmate, you’ve been trying to steal my girlfriend from day one!”

“I have not!”

“And this is why Ginger Spice is the worst Spice Girl ever,” Jimmie said.

“No kidding,” Bucky agreed, still frowning at Steve.

“I don’t know. I always thought she was pretty cute. She’s no Scary, but she’s still pretty cute,” Gabe shrugged.

“Are you serious?” Jimmie demanded.

“Oh my god, are they still arguing?” Ichika asked, coming back into the room carrying something that smelled absolutely wonderful, followed by Vera and Yua.

“They haven’t even stopped to catch their breaths,” Dum Dum complained.

“They’ve been having this argument since they were ten-years-old. I don’t expect they’ll ever stop having it.” Vera tapped Leo gently on the shoulder, causing him to snort and jerk awake.

“Paprika, I like paprika, that’s my favorite spice!” he blurted, his eyes flying open.

“We know Pop,” she assured him. “But never mind that now, it’s time to eat.”

“Oh.” He blinked several times, taking in the room. “They still at it?”

“Of course,” Vera nodded.

“You know,” Monty began, “hearing about Bucky’s crush on Becks, and now finally meeting Steve, it just dawned on me that Bucky definitely has a type.”

“I do not,” Bucky snapped.

“Oh you so do,” Gabe argued.

“Yeah, big, buff and blond,” Dum Dum nodded. In spite of his discomfort, annoyance _(and itching nose),_ Steve couldn’t help but feel a spark of pleasure in response to Dum Dum’s words.

“Oh no, that’s not Bucky’s type,” Jimmie shook his head. _(That burnt out just as quickly as it sparked.)_

“Seriously? I think the proof is right here,” Monty pointed at Steve.

“Nah,” Jimmie waved him off. “With the exception of Becks, and now Steve I guess, Bucky’s never once gone after a muscular dude. Barely even notices them, no matter how many times someone from the gym tries to hit on him.”

“What are you talking about?” Bucky asked.

“Do you remember Jake Morris?” Jimmie pressed.

“Who?” Bucky looked confused.

“Exactly,” Jimmie nodded as if proving his point.

“Jake Morris, junior year of college. Tall, buff, captain of the swim team,” Gabe added.

“I mean I’m not gay in the slightest, but even I could admit he was a good-looking dude,” Jimmie went on. “He spent weeks chasing after you, but you couldn’t have cared less.”

“Oh, wait a minute…Brunet? Studying law?” Bucky was squinting, as if searching for the memory.

“Yeah, him,” Gabe nodded. “Hottest guy in school, and you had absolutely no interest in him. Instead, you spent your last two years dating Billy instead.”

“Who’s Billy?” Steve asked.

“What was wrong with Billy?” Bucky demanded to know.

“Nothing was wrong with him,” Gabe said.

“But he was no Jake Morris,” Jimmie insisted.

“So?” Bucky asked.

“It was actually adorable,” Jimmie turned to Steve. “Here this guy was, and he was totally ripped. Like, could easily be on the cover of any magazine ripped, and he was obviously crazy about Bucky. Like, seriously into him. And then there was Billy Cabrera, and Bucky’s right, there was absolutely nothing wrong with him, but he was a short little guy, a bit on the chubby side and Bucky adored him. If we were ever looking for him, all we had to do was go up to Billy’s dorm room, and there he was, curled up in his lap like a little cat, practically purring.”

“Oh really?” Steve wasn’t certain, but he could have sworn he felt his eyebrow starting to twitch.

“The first time Jake asked me out, he wanted to take me for kale smoothies. Billy fed me meatballs on our first date, that he cooked himself! I’m not stupid,” Bucky argued.

“See,” Gabe pointed in Bucky’s direction.

“And I liked his butt,” Bucky shrugged. “It was all soft and squishy, two good handfuls of it.”

“A little cushion is always good for the pushing,” Leo agreed.

“For the last two years of college, Billy was the most spoiled guy on campus, and Bucky would have probably ended up marrying him if not for his Grey Space,” Gabe concluded.

“Oh really?”

“His manicotti were to die for,” Bucky sighed dreamily.

“His manicotti, you say?”

“And then there was Todd in high school,” Jimmie added. “Another really nice guy, but also on the plump side.”

“There was a Todd too?”

“He used to share his turkey sandwiches with me at lunch,” Bucky smiled.

“Craig, who lived not too far from the base where we did our basic,” Gabe said.

“His mom made the _best_ homemade perogies.”

“The best, huh?”

“Andre when we were in Paris,” Dum Dum joined in.

“He was studying to be a pastry chef.”

“Oh really?”

“Kouta in Japan,” Jimmie added another name to the list.

“He used to feed me omurice.”

“Kouta?”

“Stefan in Hamburg,” Jackie interjected.

“He used to bring me the best bratwurst.”

“I’ll just bet he did.”

“Each and every one of them a really nice guy,” Gabe concluded, “but also a bit…well, on the softer side."

“Dammit Sarge, you _do_ have a type. You’re a chubby chaser!” Dum Dum declared with a laugh.

“I am not!” Bucky tried to argue, but his sudden blush contradicted his words. “I just like being with someone who enjoys a good meal and likes to cook.”

“Can you cook?” Ichika asked Steve.

“Steve? Oh god no,” Sam shook his head.

“I can cook!” Steve protested. _(He couldn’t. But after hearing about Billy, and Todd, and everyone other man who turned Bucky into a food-slut, he was damned well going to learn. No one with meatballs was going to steal his soulmate.)_

“The only time I’ve ever seen you make anything other than a sandwich, you put boiled cabbage over rice, which you burned,” Sam accused, because he was an asshole.

“O bachan, I’m going to starve to death!” Bucky wailed to his grandmother, who reached for him to pull him into her arms, cooing to him softly. 

“No you won’t,” Ichika scolded. “We made sure you all learned how to cook for yourselves growing up. And you’re an excellent cook on your own.”

“But not like any of you,” Bucky sniffed. Steve thought he was being a brat.

“Stop selling yourself short,” Vera added. “You just think that because you’ve grown up eating Yua and Leo’s cooking your entire life. And you know by now you’re always going to have a seat at our table.”

“It’s still not fair if Steve is going to expect Bucky to do all the cooking,” Jimmie said. _(Steve decided he was a jerk.)_

“Agreed,” Gabe nodded. _(So was Gabe.)_

“I don’t,” Steve insisted.

“He’s too skinny. I bet he doesn’t even know what real butter is,” Bucky complained, which caused Tony to start cackling.

“What?” Steve snapped at him.

“ _Oh my god! Oh my god!_ ” Tony wheezed. “You have a body engineered by science to be the best in the world, the only one of its kind, with not an ounce of fat on you, and your soulmate’s upset because you don’t have a bubble butt!”

“I’ll have you know I have a very nice ass!” Steve argued. “Science says so!”

“It’s not the biggest, but it’s definitely perky,” Natasha grinned.

“Do you at least cuddle?” Monty wanted to know. “Because Bucky is a hardcore cuddler.”

“Oh my god, is he ever,” Dum Dum snorted. “Whenever we were on watch in the desert, you’d bunk down in your bags for the night, only to wake up with one-hundred-and-ninety pounds of Sarge all snuggled up against your back.”

“It’s freezing in the desert at night! My toes get cold.”

“Do you cuddle?” Jimmie demanded from Steve.

“I…don’t know,” was all Steve could honestly say. “But I guess I could learn.”

“O bachan,” Bucky whimpered.

“But I’m easy!” Steve tried to reassure him. “And I put out.”

“Yes, we know. We all saw the photo of you trying to deep throat a sausage,” Vera just had to remind him.

“Oh my god,” Steve moaned, feeling his face grow as red as the boots of his first uniform. “Was that you who sent that message?”

“It was indeed.”

“I am so so so sorry about that ma’am, and I promise you that it will never happen again,” Steve didn’t think his face could get any hotter than it already was, while the rest of his teammates starting snickering in the background.

“I don’t care what Captain America does in the bedroom, but at dinnertime, at our house, we do not use our cellphones. Is that understood?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Good, now that that’s out of the way,” she turned her attention back towards Bucky. “Stop being such a big baby, James. Don’t worry, you’re not going to starve to death. We’ll teach Steve how to cook all of your favorite things.”

“And if he’s as bad in the kitchen as everyone is saying, I can always introduce you to Jonas,” Ichika added.

“Jonas?” Bucky asked, lifting his head from Yua’s shoulder.

“Jonas?” Steve couldn’t help but repeat.

“He’s the nephew of my boss. According to Simon he just graduated from culinary school,” Ichika explained.

“And then there’s always Benjamin,” Vera said.

“Who’s Benjamin?” Bucky sounded way too interested for Steve’s liking.

“He goes to my church. He brought a pulled pork to our last potluck that you would not believe.”

“Um, excuse me?” Steve tried to interject. “But, you know, I _am_ Bucky’s soulmate, and I’m sitting right here.”

“Yes, but you can’t cook,” Ichika said.

“And you’re kind of slutty,” Leo added.

“You know we don’t slut-shame in this house, Pop,” Vera admonished.

“No, we most certainly do not,” Ichika chimed in.

“But,” Vera paused to shrug, “in this case you just might be right and we need to protect Bucky’s best interests.”

“I am not a slut!”

“Oh, you totally are, you trying-to-steal-my-girlfriend-genetically-modified-piece-of-beef!”

“You don’t deserve her!”

“I’m the richest man in the world. And the most handsome! There’s no one better out there for Pepper than me!”

“Money doesn’t buy class!”

“Which nobody in this room has,” Steve heard Sam mumble.

“I think everybody’s starting to get hangry,” Ichika observed.

“No kidding,” Vera agreed.

“Does anybody else really have to pee?” Clint asked.

“Well I do now. Thanks Clint,” Sam frowned.

“Why don’t you say that to my face, you red, white and blue asshole!” Tony was starting to shout.

“Bring it on, you battery powered moron!”

“Right. Enough’s enough.” Bucky said, rising from the table, and reaching for the tray of still delicious smelling whatever it was in the center. But then he suddenly paused. “Wait a minute…Is this Steve’s shield?”

“Yes,” Ichika nodded.

“You decided to use Steve's shield to serve O bachan’s kareeman?” Bucky blinked at her.

“She did _what?_ ” Jimmie asked.

“It was the only thing in the house big enough for all of them,” Ichika shrugged. “ _What?_ Why are you looking at me like that? We washed it first.”

“Oh my god, I love this family so fucking much,” Jackie beamed.

“Me too,” Clint agreed. “But I still have to pee.”

“Right,” Bucky sighed. “Okay. Needs must and all.” Bucky picked up what looked to be a small, white circular bun from the middle of Steve’s shield, tearing it half as he approached, shoving it into Steve’s mouth just as he was getting ready to hurl yet another insult at Tony.

Steve was so shocked he almost spit it out. Or at least he was planning to when the taste hit his tongue, and he was overwhelmed by the most amazing combination of spices and soft, melt-in-your-mouth meat he had ever sampled.

“Oh my god,” he moaned, once he swallowed. “What _is_ that?”

“Good right?” Bucky smiled at Steve’s nod, before he scratched Steve’s nose with his index finger _(proving he was the best soulmate in the world)_. “It’s called kareeman, a steamed Japanese curry bun. One of O bachan’s specialties. What do you think?”

“I think it’s one of the best things I’ve ever eaten.”

“Do you want another bite?” Bucky asked, while from her seat on the couch Yua beamed at him.

“Yes please.” Steve opened his mouth, knowing he was looking up at Bucky like a baby bird looked at its mother whenever she returned to their nest. Now that Steve knew what to expect, the second bite was even better than the first. “Is this the type of thing you grew up eating?”

“A lot of it yeah.” Bucky wiped a small piece of meat from Steve’s chin with his thumb, and then held it out to him so he could suck it off. “But I can also smell Momma Vera’s fried chicken livers and dirty rice. It’s one of _her_ specialties, and I think you’re really gonna love that too.”

“Will you untie me first?” Steve asked.

“I dunno, I kinda like you like this. Can’t go dashing off and getting yourself into trouble while you’re tied to that chair.”

“Oh my god! Are they eye-fucking each other? They’re totally eye-fucking each other, aren’t they?” Jimmie groaned.

“They can’t help it,” Sam said. “It’s the bond. They should have started eating each other’s cucumbers hours ago.”

“You’re _not_ helping,” Jimmie accused him.

“No, this is ridiculous. It’s all absolutely ridiculous, and I’ve had more than enough!” Tony snapped.

“Tony,” Steve warned.

“No, don’t you _Tony_ me.” And even as distracted as he was by Bucky’s proximity, Steve could hear the edge in Tony’s voice, which meant he was beyond frustrated with the way things were going, and, in typical Tony fashion, was about to throw a temper tantrum.

“Tony, just calm down,” Steve urged, pulling away from Bucky. “Just give it a sec and we’ll figure this out.”

“Give it a sec? Give it a sec?” Tony demanded. “I have given it more than a sec, and we’re all still here, our asses _still_ tied to chairs, because you’re too busy trying to flirt with your soulmate!”

“Now hold on,” Steve protested.

“Soulmate or not, they need to be brought in, so they understand they can’t just do whatever the hell they want without having to face any consequences!” Tony continued.

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Jimmie sneered. 

“And that tech was way too dangerous to risk it falling into civilian hands,” Bucky added.

“I am _not_ some civilian, I am the head of Stark Industries. And if you’re even telling the truth, which you know, I highly doubt at this point, you still had no right to make that call.”

“The hell I didn’t. My CO gave me that right.”

“We could have analyzed it, broken it down and studied it, seen if there was anything we could have used to our benefit,” Tony spoke over Bucky. “But now we’ll never know, because you decided to destroy it.”

“She wanted to use that tech to transform you into mutant roaches. How the hell was that going to be a benefit to anyone?” Bucky demanded, while around them the room fell silent.

“Mutant roaches?” Somebody, it sounded like Vera, murmured in the background.

“Oh my god Auntie Vera, you have no idea how disgusting it was,” Dum Dum murmured back. “I still have the heebie jeebies just thinking about it.”

“Tony, you need to calm down,” Steve tried again. And Steve could understand not only where Tony was coming from, but why he was reacting the way he was. It had been a long day, and they were all bruised, exhausted and most likely not thinking straight. Tony was frustrated and upset, _(and also probably very, very hangry)_ and in typical Tony fashion, needed to blow off some steam at the nearest target before he could calm down. Once he did, he would usually apologize, not directly, but in some offer of kindness; they just had to deal with his temper first. But Bucky and his family didn’t know that, and they were the ones unfortunately in Tony’s current line of fire. Steve knew the next few minutes were not going to be pleasant ones for any of them.

“Oh fuck off, Cap,” Tony snapped, proving Steve right. “They need to be taken in, and if he wasn’t your soulmate you know damn well you’d be agreeing with me.”

“Now hold on,” Steve said again.

“C’mon Tony, just take a deep breath. Give it a minute and we’ll get everything sorted out,” Sam tried.

“I don’t need to take a deep breath, and there’s nothing to sort,” Tony ignored the both of them. “What we need to be doing is bringing them in, all of them, including their families, even the two old fogeys. Just because they don’t have much time left doesn’t mean they’re above the law!”

And that was when the temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees.

“What did you just say?”

If there was a definition for the word still, it would be Bucky at that moment as he stood in the living room staring down at Tony. Something in him had turned off, or perhaps switched on, filling the room, the entire apartment, with a motionlessness vast enough to swallow stars. Even their bond had gone still, Steve not able to feel anything through either their shared Sense or Grey Space.

He just stood there, his eyes locked on Tony, not seeing him, but into him, through him, into all the cracks and crevices of his soul, filling them with his silence that Steve knew was going to end up ripping Tony apart.

It was a moment of that, then another, and then another one after that. Until Bucky finally blinked, and with a nod turned his back on Tony.

“Right,” he said in a voice that left no room for argument. “Vera and Ichika, I need you to take Yua and Leo back home and lock your doors behind you. Don’t come out until you get word from either me, Gabe or Jimmie that it’s okay.”

“Bucky, what are you going to do?” Ichika asked.

“I’m going to take care of the situation. No one, and I mean _no one_ , ever gets to speak about any of you, but especially O bachan and Pappi, that way.”

“You don’t have to do that Bucky,” Vera said. “I’m sure he didn’t mean it like it sounded.”

“Oh yes I did,” Tony decided to dig another shovelful of his own grave.

“This was what I did for seven years, and I was very good at it, you know that. So please just trust me on this. I _need_ make sure you’re safe. We all do. That’s our job, and it will always be our job.” Bucky’s voice was so assured, so self-contained, so filled with command, Steve doubted anyone could have resisted it. Even his family, the women and man who had raised him, found themselves conceding to his decision. So with soft murmurs to _be careful, be safe_ , Ichika and Vera led Yua and Leo out of the apartment and up the stairs, Monty following behind without needing to be told.

“What are you thinking, Sarge?” Gabe asked, joining Bucky on his left side, Jimmie doing the same on Bucky’s right. Bucky stood in front of Tony, his arms crossed and head cocked slightly, studying him while the man himself snarled. There was no emotion, no sense of anything Steve could read from him, except for an intense intelligence that was analyzing the situation, perhaps weighing his options using some logic Steve couldn’t begin to fathom.

And then, almost worse than the statue-like countenance he’d been wearing, he smiled; sharp and filled with razors, but his eyes as cold as one of Odin’s ravens.

“Tocumen,” was all he said when he did speak, which made no sense to Steve or any of his teammates from the looks on their faces. But that single word, whatever it was in reference to, obviously held a meaning which instantly resonated among Bucky’s unit. Jimmie smiled a matching grin to Bucky’s, and Dum Dum released a low dark chuckle.

“That’s cold Sarge, but,” and then it was his turn to smile, “fitting.”

“Right?” Bucky nodded and glanced at Jackie. “Jacks? Can you get my kit from the SUV? Usual spot.”

“On it.” Jackie was on his feet and out the door in under two seconds.

“Bucky, Bucky,” Steve tried to catch his attention, needing to stop this before it went too far and any damage done was irreparable. “What are you going to do Bucky? What’s Tocumen?”

“It’s a city in Panama,” Dum Dum answered instead. “Where someone tried to double-cross us.”

“ _Try_ being the operative word,” Jimmie added. 

“Bucky figured it out, and well, let’s just say if the guy’s still alive, I’m betting he can’t look in the mirror without having some serious flashbacks,” Gabe finished.

“Did somebody say Tocumen?” Monty spared a moment to lock the door behind him and Jackie as they returned to the apartment, before gleefully rubbing his hands together.

“Yep,” Jimmie said.

“Good call,” Monty nodded.

“Thought you’d feel that way about it.” Bucky’s hand was already outstretched to accept the small kit Jackie was carrying.

“Bucky,” Steve tried again. Bucky ignored him, walking in a tight circle around Tony’s chair, tossing the kit from hand to hand as he went. Clint, Sam and Natasha were all watching him with wide eyes.

“Do you think I’m afraid of you?” Tony asked once Bucky completed his circuit and was standing in front of him. “Do you think there’s anything you can do to me that hasn’t already been done?”

“I know you’re not,” Bucky shrugged as if Tony’s words were nothing more significant than a stray piece of dust. “And you’re right, there’s probably not anything I can do to do that will be worse than what you’ve already been through. But what I can guarantee, Mr. Stark, is that after today, you will never, ever forget what the Howling Commandos are capable of.

“Now,” Bucky paused to unzip the pouch, “you can scream, all you want. In fact, you’re probably not going to be able to stop yourself. But only for the first five minutes. After that, we’re going to duct tape your mouth shut.”

“Bucky! _Bucky!_ ” Steve had to try one last time, but once again he was ignored.

Forty-five seconds after that, Tony started to scream.

***

“Bucky!” Steve shouted for what must have been the hundredth time. It had been nearly ten minutes of this, and Steve had reached his limit. Enough was enough and soulmate or not, it was long past time for Steve to intervene.

“What?” Bucky finally glanced up from his work, an intense look of concentration on his face.

“I get what you’re trying to do,” Steve titled his chin in Tony’s direction, “And yeah, Tony’s an asshole, and he never should have said what he did about your family, but I’m sorry, I just can’t let this go on for another second.” With that, Steve used his strength to jerk his hands apart, snapping the metal bindings holding his arms in place, before he tore off the bands around his waist and ankles.

“That is _not_ how you draw a dick on someone’s face,” Steve sighed in exasperation as he rose from the chair, shaking his wrists out. “I mean seriously, I was an artist before I was accepted for Project Rebirth. And that’s just insulting. Now gimme that.” Steve held his hand out for the marker Bucky was indeed using in an attempt to draw the worst dick on Tony’s cheek Steve had ever seen.

“How long have you been able to do that?” Bucky asked, handing it over.

“At least the past hour or so,” Steve said.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Sam grumbled from his chair in the corner.

“It would have been sooner, but that stun gun you designed for Ichika packed a hell of a punch. Took me a little longer than usual to shake that off, and once I did, I had to figure out how to snap them open without breaking the chair,” Steve explained.

“Appreciate it, man,” Dum Dum acknowledged.

“Back to the drawing board, I guess,” Jimmie sighed.

“Nah, the design was solid, and they would have worked on anyone else. But, well, super-soldier,” Steve shrugged, “and there’s no way they would have been able to hold the Hulk.”

“Thanks for the feedback. It’ll help,” Gabe nodded.

“No problem. Now, speaking of design,” Steve turned back to Tony who was glaring at them. “While shaving off all his hair has definitely given you a larger canvas, you still have to take into account the shape of his head. Work with his curves, instead of against them. See, like this…”

“Can I draw something too? Because I think it would be absolutely adorable if we put a kitty sitting right on top of where his eyebrows used to be,” Natasha said from over Steve’s shoulder, the ropes she had been tied with held in a neat coil around her hands.

“I hate you all,” Sam decided to give complaining one last shot.

“Kitty would work,” Bucky agreed after a few seconds of consideration.

“Can I help too?” Clint called from the chair he was _(unfortunately)_ still bound to. “If Steve gets to draw a dick on his face, I want to draw one too.”

“Yeah, fine.” Bucky nodded at Gabe, who tapped something on his phone, causing all of the shackles, except for Tony’s, to unlock and clatter to the floor.

“Oh thank god,” Clint exhaled, jumping up from his chair. “Be right back. But first, I really gotta pee!”

“Last door on the left,” Dum Dum called as both Clint and Sam bolted from the room.

“Right,” Steve nodded, adjusting his hold on the marker, “now that that’s outta the way, watch and learn. _This_ is how you draw a dick on someone’s face.”


	17. Chapter 17

The night was pleasantly warm and thankfully not too humid as Bucky stood on the corner of his street, staring up at the moon, while Hunter and Hope sniffed at a fire hydrant, trying to read any scent messages left from the other dogs who lived on their block. It was a little after ten, he was well-fed and clean, his neighborhood peaceful, and after the day he’d had, he needed a few moments of solitude to center himself and calm his thoughts. He didn’t know how many walks he’d taken like this, just him and his dogs, their soft panting the metronome he used to accept that _yeah_ , this was his life now, and it was a pretty damned good one, getting better every day.

He was grateful for that, so fucking grateful, but every once in a while he still needed to take a few minutes to remind himself. Hunter and Hope were always more than happy to help him, and they were good companions, allowing him to set their course and never complaining when he paused to light a cigarette and take in the night sky.

But they weren’t the only ones out walking that night; or at least they weren’t for long.

“Crazy day, huh?” Steve asked, stepping up to Bucky’s left, on the opposite side from the dogs.

“A bit,” Bucky glanced at his cigarette before taking another drag. “Does the smoking bother you?”

“Not at all,” Steve shook his head. “I knew you smoked, could taste it whenever you did. And while I never was a hardcore smoker, we all did it back in the war to help pass the time. I actually miss the smell of it sometimes. And you don’t do it very often, so no, I don’t mind.”

“I usually just have one in the morning, and one or two at night,” Bucky admitted. “Helps me to calm down after a long day.”

“I get that,” Steve reached for the cigarette in Bucky’s hand, slipping it into his fingers and easily bringing it to his mouth to take a puff of his own. Bucky studied him, taking in all his details. He was no longer wearing his uniform, having switched it out for one of Bucky’s t-shirts and a pair of his track pants. Once they finished coloring in every available patch of skin on Stark’s face, after the man himself stomped away to insult someone else’s family, Steve tried to not so discretely pull Bucky away from their friends and family, and upstairs into Bucky’s house. Or at least he had until Dum Dum casually remarked, _‘You still got bug guts in your hair, Cap,’_ which killed any desire either of them may have been feeling _(the Fates be damned)_ and caused Steve to squawk. Dum Dum directed a still gagging Steve to his shower, while also insisting Bucky take one of his own, but _separately_. By the time they each emerged, at nearly the exact same moment, Vera and Ichika were waiting for them, insisting that since they more than likely were not going to see either one of them for a week, they were going to have a least one good meal before they fucked themselves to death. Everyone had been there, from Bucky’s family to all of Steve’s teammates, and they feasted on O bachan’s kareeman and Vera’s fried chicken livers and dirty rice until they were ready to burst, Leo promising he would make them his jerk chicken and Ichika her kiritanpo for their next get together. To Bucky’s surprise it had gone unbelievably well, Steve’s teammates raving about the food, especially Sam and Natasha, followed by Clint lying on the floor so he could drown himself in dog. Natasha ended up huddled in a corner with Yua, both cats curled in her lap, while his O bachan demonstrated her knotwork, and Leo complained about Jehovah’s Witnesses in the house, eating all the food. Steve endured question after question from Vera and Ichika, mostly about his cooking skills and what he liked to eat, but since he’d helped himself to three servings of fried chicken livers and at least a dozen of the kareeman, Bucky was pretty sure he passed their test. Bucky and his boys had feasted on plenty of food of their own, while debriefing, until finally there was not a single crumb left, and everyone was starting to yawn.

_‘Go walk your dogs,’_ Jimmie had shoved their leashes into his hands.

_‘Yeah, but –‘_ Bucky tried, glancing around at all the plates and pots scattered throughout his living room and kitchen.

_‘Go, you need a minute, it’s okay. We got this,’_ Gabe insisted. _‘Don’t worry, we’ll handle the cleanup.’_

So Bucky had gone, because both Gabe and Jimmie were right, and he did need a minute. Yet still, for all this was supposed to be a lifechanging day, the day Bucky met and began his new life with his soulmate, he and Steve hadn’t had a chance to just talk or get to know each other better. There was going to be sex, lots and lots and lots of it, but that wasn’t the only aspect of their relationship, nor the most important one. For all that they had been tasting what the other had eaten for the past couple of months, they were still basically strangers and would need time to get to know each other. Their Grey Spaces meant they were destined for one another, the other half of each other’s soul, but it was still up to them to define what exactly that meant. And the day they had hadn’t helped. All Bucky knew about Steve at this point was that he could draw a really accurate dick on someone’s face, and that he also looked amazing in Bucky’s clothes.

“Everybody go home?” Bucky asked, taking the cigarette back from Steve.

“Yeah, they were just wrapping it up as I was leaving. Your team’s pretty well organized once they set their minds to something. Practically shoved me out the door, told me to go find you.”

“They’re amazing,” Bucky said. He was proud of his boys, so fucking proud of them; he’d been blessed with the best unit in the world, the best brothers any man could ever ask for, and he would never deny that to anyone.

“They are,” Steve agreed. “I’ve almost never seen a unit work as well together as you guys do. Reminded me a lot of the Invaders, my first team.”

“I know.”

“Of course you do,” Steve chuckled. But he wasn’t looking at Bucky, he was staring down at Hunter and Hope, who were staring back, their tails wagging. Steve smiled at them, holding his hand out as he lowered himself into a crouch. “Hi guys. We haven’t been properly introduced yet. I’m Bucky’s soulmate, Steve, and we’re going to be spending a lot of time together, so I guess we need to get used to each other, huh?” Hunter moved first, taking a healthy sniff of Steve’s hand, before he pressed himself into Steve’s fingers for a good scratch. Hope, seeing the all-clear from her brother, quickly followed.

“I’m going to have to learn sign-language,” Steve laughed from beneath the onslaught of tongues and happy yips he was now being subjected to.

“Probably,” Bucky couldn’t help his smile; there was something so soothing, so _right_ at the sight of Steve playing with his dogs. “But they’re good dogs, easy to handle once they know you know what you’re doing.” Bucky tapped Hope’s flank twice, and then signed _Hope, sit,_ followed by _good girl_ when she complied. Hunter, knowing the signs as well, did the exact same thing.

“What was that you just told her?” Steve asked.

“Since she can’t hear you, you tap her side when you want her to pay attention. She’s been trained to know that means she has to look at you. Then this,” Bucky raised his hands to each side of his head, bending his fingers at the first joint and pulling them downward, “means Hope, her name. This,” Bucky extended the first two fingers on each of his hands, crossing one pair over the other, “is sit. Once she does that, you do this,” Bucky waved his open hands at each side of his head, “which is basically the equivalent of good girl.” Hope was looking up at him, so Bucky reached down and gave her ears a vigorous ruffle. “It’s a lot of work, and it takes patience, but as you can see, she’s absolutely worth it.”

“She definitely is,” Steve agreed.

“Hunter helps a lot too. He was already trained by the time I got him, but he inherited the intelligence his breed’s known for, so he ending up picking up the signs too. Hope will usually follow his lead.”

“You really love animals, don’t you?” Steve shifted his smile from the dogs and back towards Bucky.

“Always have,” Bucky shrugged. “My mom, Winifred, was a vet, so I grew up around animals. Always knew I was going to have some of my own someday. It was one of the first things I did when I finally got back stateside. Is that going to be an issue?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Steve rolled his eyes. “I’m pretty crazy about them already, especially the cats. Don’t have any experience with them really, so you’re going to have to teach me what to do, but I _am_ a quick learner.”

“I think that can be arranged.” Bucky tugged on the leads, urging Hunter and Hope to resume walking, Steve easily falling into pace at his side.

“Can I ask you something?” Steve said after a few moments of a very comfortable silence.

“Sure.”

“Why did you keep me and the rest of my team tied up like that for so long?”

Bucky couldn’t help his snort.

“Truth?”

“Please.”

“At first, because I honestly didn’t know if you were going to try and bring us in,” Bucky answered honestly. “The boys were following my orders, and I told them I would take any fallout that came from what happened. I wanted to make sure they had enough time to get away.”

“I never had any intentions of bringing any of you in, Bucky.” Steve sounded exasperated, especially when Bucky cocked an eyebrow at him. “I’ll admit I was shocked at first, but then I had JARVIS pull up everything he could find on you, including your service record. Most of it was redacted, so there wasn’t much, but what was there said you and your team had served with honor and distinction. I needed to make sure the tech you grabbed was secured, but I never thought you were a merc or had plans to sell it.”

“Then why did you and the rest of the Avengers show up in full force?”

“Because I wanted to ask you to come work for us.”

“ _What?_ ”

“I wasn’t lying when I said you were one of the best units I’ve ever seen, if not _the_ best. And sometimes when we get called out, we could really use the ground support. Ever since the SHIELD fiasco, it's been hard finding a team that can keep up with us, never mind one we can trust. And you guys are good, so good even Natasha was impressed, and I’d be a fool to not want to work with that.”

“I don’t know Steve,” Bucky shook his head. “After seven years in the Army, I like being a civilian, and not spending months without a chance to see my family. I think the rest of the boys do too.” Bucky paused to take another drag from his cigarette. “I also don’t like the idea of you being my CO. Quite honestly, that puts you in a position of power over me that I’m not comfortable with.”

“It has nothing to do with us being soulmates,” Steve countered with a shake of his own head. “And I wouldn’t want to be in that position either.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I wouldn’t,” Steve insisted. “You’d be support. It would mean me telling you what we’re heading into and most likely need, and letting you make all the decisions from there. You know how to do your jobs, I’ve already seen that, and I have enough experience to know not to interfere with something like that. There’d probably be some extra training involved, so we can get used to how we work, but other than that not much else. We all live in New York, and I actually spend most of my time here, so you wouldn’t be pulled away from your family. It probably wouldn’t be every call out either, just every once in a while when we can use the extra help.”

“I’d have to think about it,” Bucky eventually said. “Talk it over with the boys too, see what they have to say.”

“That’s all I ask,” Steve shrugged. “No pressure. It really is just a suggestion, but…”

“But?”

“I think we’d make a really great team.” There was a smug little smile on Steve’s face as he spoke.

“We’ll see.”

They fell into another easy quiet after that, Hunter and Hope taking their time to find the perfect spot to do what Bucky had brought them outside to do. While they waited, they shared a second cigarette between them, not saying anything, until they finished that one too, and Bucky reached into his pocket, pulling out a small purple and silver packet which he offered to Steve.

“Thanks,” Steve laughed, popping a Choward’s Violet Candy into his mouth. “I’ve always loved these.”

“Me too,” Bucky said, doing the same. It was a strange sensation, to taste the candy on his tongue, while also getting a hit of flavor from his Sense; more intense and deeply layered, along with a burbling feeling of contentment. “Is that as weird for you as it is for me?”

“Yeah, it is,” Steve smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. They were a nice blue, darker than Bucky’s own, reminding him of the many desert skies he had lain beneath. Full of both potential and humor, Bucky could easily picture himself staring into them time and time again, never growing tired of their color or what they would reveal to him of Steve.

“The day I tasted these through my Sense was the first time I began to suspect you knew who I was and were deliberately trying to send me a message,” Steve said over the crunch of candy in his mouth.

“They’re a very New York thing, and’ve been around forever. Wanted to give you something that maybe reminded you of home,” Bucky shrugged.

“It did,” Steve agreed. “But then again, once you stopped fucking with me, everything you ate did.”

“Worth all the spicy food then?”

“I don’t know about that,” Steve chuckled. “But my palate has certainly expanded these past few months.”

“Just you wait, I’ll have you craving _jjambbong_ before you know it,” Bucky grinned.

“ _Jjambbong?_ ”

“Korean fish dish. It’s to die for. Even I think it’s hot, but it’s so, _so good._ ”

“I’ll stock up on the antacids then.”

“We’ll ease you into it.”

“Hmmm,” Steve hummed. “I trust you.”

Bucky was just about to retort, when he felt Steve’s fingers brushing against the back of his own, just that simple touch sending a cascade of tingling heat, even better than the spiciest food, up along his arm and into his Grey Space. What else could he do but interlace their fingers together, tightening his around Steve’s long, strong ones.

“Speaking of home…” Steve began.

“Yeah?”

“After what we did to Tony today, I probably won’t be welcome back into the Tower for a while.”

“I didn’t mean to get you kicked out of your house,” Bucky tried to apologize.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh yeah, and it was definitely worth it,” Steve chuckled. “I’ve been wanting to draw a dick on Tony’s face since I first met him. He totally deserved that.”

“Still.”

“He’s just going to need some time to calm down. And once Pepper hears about what he said about your grandparents she’ll make sure he apologizes.”

“Do you really have a crush on her?” Bucky had to know.

“Probably a little one,” Steve admitted, causing Bucky to huff. “But it’s not like _that_. Jeez, don’t be jealous.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s just she’s really, really sweet and has always been kind to me. Never made fun of me when there was something I didn’t understand, tried to explain it to me instead.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“It’s gotten better, although every once in a while something will still catch me by surprise. Not as much as it used to, but it still happens every now and then,” Steve shrugged it off. “And Pepper was happy, really, really happy for me when she found out I had a soulmate. She’s dying to meet you.”

“And she’ll make sure you’re not homeless.”

“Yeah, but here’s the thing,” Steve said just as they turned onto Bucky’s block. “It’ll take her a couple of days to get Tony to calm down –“

“As well as wash all the marker off,” Bucky cut in.

“As well as that, yes,” Steve grinned. “But in the end I don’t think it’s going to matter.”

“Oh no?” Bucky was beginning to get an idea as to where Steve was going with all this.

“My parents were soulmates, did you know that?” Steve asked. Bucky shook his head. “They didn’t end up having very long together, my father died during the Great War, but my mom told me they were married within a week of finally finding each other.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes really.” Steve tugged on Bucky’s hand, pulling him in even closer. “I love the city, Manhattan’s great, but I’m a Brooklyn boy through and through, and I’ve been thinking about moving back lately.”

“Have you now?”

“Mm-hmm,” Steve hummed. “And my soulmate, he lives there too, and he’s got a beautiful home, just across the street from his amazing family, and I was thinking…” And here Steve trailed off, sounding unsure for the first time since they’d started walking together.

“And you were thinking?” Bucky used both his voice and another squeeze of Steve’s fingers to urge him on.

“That maybe there’d be room for me there too, a space at their dinner table,” Steve finished in a whisper.

“You just really want to have sex,” Bucky teased.

“Well yeah, I really want that too. Really, really, _really,_ ” Steve nodded. “But the other stuff, your dogs, your cats, your family, learning how to cook all the things you really like to eat, and getting to know you better, I really, really want that too. Even more than the sex, if you can believe it.”

“Steve,” Bucky said softly, gently, trying to fill his voice with everything he felt, all the things words would never be able to express; the warmth in his belly, the tingling of his skin, the recognition of the other half of his heart, his soul. The love that had always been there, waiting for them to find it, growing stronger with each passing beat of his pulse. “You’re my soulmate. And even if you weren’t, all you ever had to do was ask.”

And then Bucky stepped forward, closing the last bit of distance between them, and kissed his soulmate, while the dogs panted at their feet, and from above the Fates sighed in contentment.

***

Food had always been a source of pleasure for Bucky. The smooth sweetness of a drop of honey on his tongue. The heavy richness of just the right amount of cream in his morning coffee. The sinful satisfaction when a perfectly prepared piece of barbequed pork melted in his mouth. The sharp and blistering heat of a hot pepper, setting not just his lips but his entire body on fire.

The language of food was the first one Bucky ever learned; the spice of nourishment, a gift families shared with one another, the flavor of life and love. For him taste had always been and would always be the most important sense out of all the five, and the most fitting one to bring him closer to the person he was destined to love.

Yet still, _still,_ all of the best jerk-chicken, takoyaki, and carefully prepared delicacies of the world were nothing, _absolutely nothing,_ compared to the taste of Steve’s mouth against his own.

It left him ravenous, famished, starving for more. 

While the Fates may have been happy two of their chosen had finally come together, they were far from done with them yet. Like all matters of life and death, they demanded a gift for their guidance, a celebration for what they had wrought, their payment taken in a mix of flesh and blood, breath and sweat, and the glorious coming together of two who were always meant to be one.

It was a price Bucky was more than willing to pay.

So was Steve, from the way he shoved Bucky back against the door once they returned to his house, barely giving Bucky a chance to unhook Hunter and Hope’s leashes before he was slamming their mouths together.

“ _Oh Jesus, oh fuck,_ ” Bucky gasped, his fingers scrabbling over Steve’s shoulders in an attempt to find something to grab on to.

“Too much?” Steve panted, yet Bucky couldn’t help but notice he wasn’t pulling away, diving in even closer, the press of his lips bruising against Bucky’s own.

“Fuck no.” Bucky abandoned his efforts to grab onto Steve’s back, raising his hands to his head instead, grabbing two fistfuls of that glorious golden hair to keep Steve in place so he could show him what it really meant to be kissed by someone who understood all the pleasures that could be shared by lips and mouth and tongue.

It was a kiss that said _I will breathe for you with my breath, feed you with my blood, and swallow your soul whole. I am hunger, I am endless, and you belong to me._

From the way Steve moaned, the tightened coil of his body along Bucky’s, he felt exactly the same way. He ground his hips against Bucky’s, the iron hardness there finding Bucky’s already waiting for him, a clash that wasn’t a clash, but a like finally finding like. There was so much of him; muscles and strength and power, an infinite well of it that might, just might, be enough to satisfy all Bucky’s hungers.

“Months ago,” Steve growled, sliding his mouth from Bucky’s to nibble a trail of kisses up his neck and to that little, tiny spot just beneath his ear, the one that always tingled in all the best ways when Bucky sucked on something sour. It wasn’t tingling now, but pulsing, throbbing, like a pulsar, like every other part of his body. “We could have had this months ago if you hadn’t been such a stubborn asshole.”

“And you need to learn patience. All the best cooks in the world know not to rush things,” Bucky laughed.

“Seventy years, Bucky,” Steve whispered, not with another kiss, but with a pause so he could press his temple to Bucky’s. “I’ve been waiting over seventy years to find you. You have no idea how long it’s been for me.” There was something in his voice, something as hungry and as mournful as a wolf howling for its mate.

What else could Bucky do but answer the call?

“But I’m here now.” He unclenched his fingers from Steve’s hair so could card them through it instead, brushing that beautiful, beautiful gold back from his forehead to stare into his eyes. “And I am never letting you go. End of the line, me and you. Always and forever. I swear it.”

“You better be,” Steve smiled, soft and sweet and grateful. Bucky realized at that instant that smile was for him and him alone, and he would never, ever get tired of looking at it. Gifts like that were too precious to be taken for granted.

“You’re never getting rid of me now,” he promised, gifting Steve with a smile of his own.

“Good.” And then Steve’s smile transformed, growing sharp and shark-like, as he shifted his weight back so there was enough space between them for his hands to slide their way down to Bucky’s hips. Bucky had the feeling Steve was about to show him sides of himself no one could have possibly fathomed.

“Speaking of cooking…” Steve began, his fingers deftly undoing Bucky’s belt buckle.

“Yeah?”

“Sam and Natasha were right.” He lowered Bucky’s zipper, the click of metal suddenly the loudest noise in the room. “I can’t cook for shit.” He shrugged an innocent little shrug. “It’s not something I’ve ever been good at. Doesn’t mean I’m not going to learn, because if anyone’s going to feed you, it’s gonna be me.” There was the lightest brush of his fingers over the length of Bucky’s throbbing shaft, a barely felt caress that made Bucky hiss. “But what I am, and have always been really good at,” Steve lowered himself to his knees, pulling Bucky’s jeans and underwear down to his thighs as he went, Bucky’s cock springing free, “is sucking dick like a champ.” He looked up at Bucky through lashes even more golden than his hair, that smile, _that fucking smile_ , still on his lips. “I am really, _really_ good at that.” And then he leaned forward, and in one fell swoop took the entirety of Bucky’s dick into his mouth.

“ _Fuuuuuuck,_ ” the word passed through Bucky’s lips in a long, low moan, his head slamming back against the door. Because _holy shit_ , Steve was right; Bucky’s cock had never been sucked the way Steve was sucking it right now. Greedily, eagerly, with so much enthusiasm it was as if he’d been born to do it. Hot and wet and messy, he tightened his lips and rolled his tongue, the happy little mewls of pleasure he was making vibrating up and down Bucky’s length. And all the while, with his hands clenching Bucky’s hips to hold him in place, he kept pressing forward, sliding Bucky’s dick deeper and deeper into his mouth, until the tip of his nose first brushed against, then pressed into the coils of hair at the base of Bucky’s groin. Even that didn’t seem to be enough for him, Steve not stopping until the head of Bucky’s cock was surrounded by the tightening contractions of his throat.

If that were not enough, almost more than anyone could possibly experience without loosing their mind, their Sense was flaring, wide open between them, not a single barrier left.

So not only was Bucky drowning in the endless and relentless sucking of Steve’s mouth, but he could taste himself too, feel the weight of his erection on Steve’s tongue, the heat and the throb and the bittersweet essence of his precum that for Steve was both a feast and a symphony, and something he wanted more, more, and _even more_ of. Steve had every intention of, wanted nothing more than, to devour Bucky whole, and Bucky was going to taste every single drop of it as he did. Steve wanted, and Bucky had no choice but to give it to him.

It was an order too strong to resist, a precipice too high not to fall from, so that’s what Bucky did, his body tightening, everything in him now Steve’s to feast on.

Except when it was your soulmate, that feast was to be shared, and there would always be someone to catch you when you fell, which was what Steve did when the crest pulled back and all Bucky could do was slide to the floor in its wake.

“Good?” Steve asked, from where he crouched over Bucky on his hands and knees, his lips swollen and his eyes intent. The heat in them, the endless, endless blue fire, left Bucky with no doubts as to how this man would have been able to survive being frozen for almost seventy years. But then again, he was made for Bucky, and Bucky for him; Steve had been born too soon and Bucky too late, so the Fates had intervened and knowing Steve was strong enough, chose him to be the one to carry the burden of time.

Bucky would make damned sure that neither the Fates or Steve ever regretted it.

So he leaned forward, licking into Steve’s mouth to chase the taste of himself, that he had already sampled, from Steve’s lips. Let _that_ be his answer to any question Steve may have had.

“You are going to be the death of me,” Bucky murmured seconds, minutes, hours, maybe days later when they finally pulled apart, to which Steve laughed, a soft, breathless chuckle.

“And just think, we have seven whole days of this,” the asshole had the nerve to grin.

“Fuck seven days, we’re going to have seventy fucking years of it. And fuck my clothes too,” Bucky grumbled, using his toes to kick off his sneakers, before shifting to work on getting his jeans off. It was easier said than done, with how loose and languid his limbs felt, until Steve, proving he was not a complete asshole, helped pull them off. “Thanks. Now c’mon, on your feet,” Bucky said as he stood, “because we’re just getting started, and I haven’t had my turn yet.”

***

Bucky was…

If anyone were to ask Steve to describe his soulmate, even though he had known him for less than a day, he would have found it nearly impossible. He was so many things, and there were too many words for Steve to chose from, and none of them would have been enough.

Funny and sharp and extremely intelligent. Clever, strong, a devoted son and loyal to his friends. Courageous and brave, organized and commanding, but kind, gentle and compassionate too. And, Steve was happy to admit, stunningly, strikingly gorgeous, with his long dark hair, bright blue-grey eyes, muscular lean legs, and shoulders broad enough to bear even Steve’s weight. He was the kind of man Steve would have barely dared to fantasize about coming home to before Erskine’s serum. And yet somehow he knew, from somewhere deep within his core, that if they had known each other prior to Steve’s transformation, Bucky still would have loved him, wanted him, seen him for who he truly was, in spite of his scrawny body and sickly constitution. That’s what soulmates were; two people whose souls were meant to resonate, their bodies just the shells containing the matching pearls within.

Still, Bucky had a very nice body. A very, very, _very nice_ body that Steve was really looking forward to getting to know better.

So it was easy, more than, to follow him up the stairs, one flight, then two, then a third, until they reached the top level of Bucky’s home, and he was opening the door to his bedroom, gesturing for Steve to go inside.

Steve had a brief impression of warm brown floors and soft green walls, slanted ceilings and plants lining the windowsills, before he was being pressed down into a bed covered in thick blankets and more pillows than he had ever seen before.

It was the last thing he noticed for a while, because after that everything became a blur of skin, and heat, and kiss after kiss after kiss, as Bucky made it his mission in life to consume every last bit of Steve’s skin so there would be nothing left, not even his bones, once he was done.

Steve’s clothes disappeared in a blink, Bucky tearing them away, before there were kisses to his mouth, then his neck, that slowly made their way down to his nipples, which Bucky made sure to suck into sharp little points. Hands in Steve’s hair, massaging his scalp, before they dragged their way over his shoulders then down along his ribs, until they finally stopped on his hips so Bucky could circle his thumbs over the peak of Steve’s hipbones. Happy little murmurs and coos of praise as Bucky ran his cheeks over the inside of Steve’s thighs, making sure to press even more kisses to the backs of Steve’s knees, shifting only far enough to cradle Steve’s balls in his palm, humming happily at their weight. Then another sigh, this one of appreciation, that Steve barely had the chance to notice before Bucky leaned forward to slowly drag his tongue from the base of Steve’s dick all the way to its tip, lapping lazily at the bead of precum he found glistening there.

“So tell me sweetheart,” Bucky murmured after his tongue had completed several more circles around the head, a slow exploration that left Steve whimpering. “Now that you’re finally here in my bed, what is it that you really, really want? Anything you want, all you have to do is ask, and I’ll make sure you get it.”

“What I really want - Oh _fuckfuckfuck!_ ” Steve arched off the bed, because instead of licking the head of his cock, Bucky had started to suck, and _holy hell_ , did he know how to use his mouth.

“Hmmm?” Bucky hummed, laughter in his eyes as he focused them on Steve’s face.

“What I really want – _oh Jesus_ – is for you to fuck me,” Steve somehow managed to say.

“Oh do you now?” Bucky pulled back and tilted his head, but only so he could drag the ends of his hair over the tip of Steve’s dick; Steve was never gong to be able to look at his hair and not think of this moment for the rest of his life. “Are you sure of that? ‘Cos you seem to be pretty into this. Who knew Captain America had a hair kink?” Then he did it again, and again, and again, an endless whisper of silk that was both not enough and too much at once.

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been fucked? Almost seventy-five-fucking-years,” Steve hissed, slamming his fist into the mattress. “So yeah, your hair, _omigod your hair Bucky_ , it’s fucking gorgeous, okay? And I’m gonna play with it later, _for hours_. But if you don’t fuck me right now, I swear to god I will eat nothing but raisins for the rest of my life!”

“You really had to go there, didn’t you?” Bucky asked, sitting back on his heels, crossing his arms and frowning at Steve.

“I can fight dirty when I have to,” Steve growled through gritted teeth.

“But raisins? Really Steve?”

“ _Why aren’t you fucking me yet?_ ” Steve felt completely justified kicking Bucky’s hip with his shin.

“Bossy, bossy, bossy,” Bucky shook his head. But since he was laughing as he did it, as well as climbing over Steve to dig into his nightstand, Steve was willing to let it slide. At least this once.

Besides, he wasn’t wrong.

Fortunately, Bucky appeared to be done with all his teasing, kneeling in between Steve’s thighs with a bottle of lube held in his hand. Unfortunately, the bottle looked to be more than three-quarters empty. It would do for now, but not much longer than that.

“Are you sure that’s going to be enough?” Steve asked.

“Oh don’t worry,” Bucky flicked open the cap and flipped the bottle over, drizzling a generous amount of the slick over his fingers, “we’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, but –“

“Steve,” Bucky cut him off with a swift and sudden kiss. And yeah, all right, Steve had to admit, it was effective. But still…

“Don’t worry,” he repeated, settling himself more comfortably between Steve’s spread thighs. “After that conversation where you went on and on about SMSW, I stocked up. I got six more bottles stashed under the bed.”

“Oh thank god.”

“Hmmm,” Bucky hummed. “Now just lie back and relax, because yeah, I get it, you’re desperate for it. And so am I. But it’s been a long time for you sweetheart, and I wanna make sure you enjoy it. So just let me do this for you, all right? It’s gonna take a while, but I’ll get you there, I promise.” Then he pressed his left hand against Steve’s ass, and proceeded to slowly drive Steve out of his mind.

All Steve could do was let him.

It was the first time Steve’s body had ever felt anything like it. He wasn’t a virgin, but given the risks and constant fear of discovery, sex had always been a rushed and harried thing. Time was not a luxury when you were queer, poor or later on, in the army. So while any sex he’d had, had been satisfying and welcome, it had not been this; this slow, languorous preparation of fingers and lips, and sweetly whispered words focused entirely on his pleasure. Bucky absolutely refused to be rushed, no matter how much Steve begged, _“Faster, harder, c’mon, you can gimme more, now, now, now!”_ which in turn forced Steve not to submit, but to place himself completely into Bucky’s care, and allow him to steer their course, transforming his body into a banquet for Bucky to feast upon.

Which was a very different experience from anything Steve had before, and made him, his skin, his entire body hyper-aware of the differences between a sexual partner and a lover. Bucky was not denying him anything, but instead making sure Steve got absolutely everything he could ever possibly need or want. The very tips of his fingers slowly circling Steve’s asshole, before he slid only a single one inside, while he nibbled and licked, and caressed and explored the rest of Steve’s body with both his free hand and tongue. A firm palm dragging down from beneath Steve’s chin along the column of his throat to spread out and press over his heart. Heated, searching kisses to his lips, the sucking of Steve’s own fingers into his mouth, one by one, where they were sucked and slurped at until they were glistening with spit. The brush of hair along the inside of Steve’s thigh, before his dick was engulfed in a warm, wet heat without end. All of it, every single caress and touch a blissful agony he did not have to endure but merely enjoy, which he did, greedily, gratefully, eagerly as one finger eventually became two, became three, until Steve was back to begging, _“Please Bucky please, please, please, please,”_ in a chant even the Fates would not be able to withstand.

Then Bucky’s fingers were gone, Steve’s hips being lifted to rest on top of a pillow, and his spread legs pulled even higher across Bucky’s thighs. One last kiss, and a softly murmured, “Oh god, look at you. You are _so_ beautiful. I can’t believe you’re mine,” before he slid his big, beautiful dick slowly into Steve’s body.

It stretched and it burned, but all of Bucky’s care, his endless preparation turned something that had always taken Steve a few desperate breaths to get used to into something that was warm, welcomed and so easy to accept. The pleasure was immediate, a soft ripple emanating from the core of Steve’s body and out through his fingers, his toes, the tips of his hair, until Steve was practically bleeding from the abundance of it. So much pleasure, too much pleasure, that Steve realized wasn’t just his the instant Bucky’s hips pressed against the back of his ass, his dick completely engulfed by Steve’s body.

“Oh Jesus,” Steve gasped, reaching up blindly to grasp the slats of Bucky’s headboard. “Are you feeling that?” Because Bucky was both in him and around him, his dick surrounded by a warm, rippling heat, and his body shivering in response to the insistent throb that had slid itself within. It was his pleasure _and_ Bucky’s pleasure, combined, multiplied, one feeding into the other, back and forth and back and forth, over and over and over again.

“Yeah, oh shit, yeah,” Bucky panted, his eyes closed, his fingertips digging into Steve’s hips, as if that were the only thing that would keep him, the both of them, from flying away.

It probably was.

But even that was not enough, and soon their bodies ( _or the Fates_ ) began to demand even more, more, _more_ , and they were moving, thrusting, crashing against one another, clinging to skin that was slick with sweat, and kissing each other the way the first two people must have kissed each other at the very beginning and end of it all.

Until there was no place else for what they were feeling to go, no matter how desperate, needy, starving they may have been, and they had to let it go, pouring their pleasure, their joy, their love, back into the other, as their bodies shivered and shook, coating both of their skins with their spend.

Yet unlike most falls from grace, this one came with a gentle landing, Steve sinking back onto the pillows, with his arms open and ready to catch Bucky as he collapsed on top of Steve’s chest, the taste of each other still coating the backs of their tongues.

“Is it…is it always going to be like that, you think?” Steve asked once his throat stopped clicking with every swallow he made.

“Oh god, I hope so,” Bucky both panted and laughed against Steve’s neck. “Because holy fucking shit…”

“Yeah,” Steve had to agree when Bucky didn’t go on, somehow managing to lift his hand to run it through Bucky’s hair. “Holy fucking shit.”

“How do soulmates ever get out of bed if it’s like this all the time?” Bucky wondered, pressing a kiss, this one small and delicate, to the spot just beneath Steve’s Adam’s Apple.

“No fucking clue,” Steve sighed. “I know I don’t.”

“To eat, maybe?”

“Maybe,” Steve shrugged. “Although I gotta admit, I’m feeling kinda stuffed right now.”

“You…didn’t,” Bucky lifted his head to squint down at Steve.

“What?” Steve attempted to look innocent, while wiggling his hips at the same time. “It’s just the truth.”

“ _Oh. My. God_ ,” Bucky said flatly. “Thirty fucking years I’ve been waiting to meet my soulmate, and this is what I get stuck with? The Fates must really hate me.”

“Shut up,” Steve gently swatted the side of Bucky’s head. “And it’s not like I’m wrong. You should try it sometime, see for yourself.”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky’s gaze was suddenly intense, his eyes practically scoring Steve’s skin as they ran over his face.

“Yeah.” Steve lifted his chin; he had never once backed down from a challenge in his life, and that wasn’t ever going to change, soulmate or not.

“Like now?” Apparently Bucky was the exact same way.

“I think that can be arranged, if you’re up for it.”

“Oh, I think we can both tell that I am. I just wasn’t sure if that was something _you’d_ be up for.” It was starting again, the bubbling, burbling, simmering heat that told Steve their night was far from over. They were going to set each other on fire, in a million, billion ways, laughing the entire time.

“Well, I did say I was flexible,” Steve reminded him, the scorch of them something he was already addicted to.

“You did say that,” Bucky admitted with a nod.

“Now pass me the lube,” Steve said, holding his hand out. “’Cos me and you Bucky, we’re just getting started.”

***

“Hey you.”

Steve opened his eyes he had no idea how long later to find Bucky looking down at him, his body comfortably sprawled on top of Steve’s. His face was flushed, his lips swollen, and his hair damp with sweat.

“Hey honey,” Steve smiled and then had to reach up, to cup his cheek, run his fingers through that long, glorious hair, tucking it behind Bucky’s ear.

“Doing okay?” Bucky wanted to know.

“Yeah, even better than,” Steve nodded. “You?”

“Feeling pretty damn great myself right about now,” Bucky grinned. The past few hours had been the most intense ones Steve ever experienced, filled with sex and heat, hands clasping and bodies shifting, and a litany of never-ending kisses forever imprinted into both of their skins. Not just pleasure, but joy and relief, and a sense of something Steve had never known was missing, but was desperate for. It was a tremendous thing, being someone’s soulmate, and Steve thought he might finally understand why not everyone was born with a Grey Space. It was a gift, but one that came with a high price, demanding as much as it gave.

But as he looked up into his soulmate’s, _Bucky’s,_ eyes, Steve knew it was one he was more than willing to pay. Even though it was dark in the room, the neighborhood still silently sleeping around them, Bucky glowed, the most beautiful thing Steve had ever seen, his eyes wanting to fill with tears at just the sight of him. He wondered if Bucky felt the same way.

“I do,” Bucky nodded, answering the question Steve hadn’t put into words. Their connection was new, everything wide open and raw between them as a result.

From everything Steve understood, had read and been told, it would stabilize over time; their Sense of taste would never disappear, but it had done its job and led them to each other. In its place, some of the others would become active, not as intense but adding to their awareness of each other as they began to braid their lives and souls together, the final result a tapestry woven for just the two of them. Steve couldn’t help but wonder what their colors would be, although he had no doubt it would be glorious.

He was just about to ask when the door clicked open, and Hunter padded his way inside, followed by Hope, Athena and last, but certainly not least, a scampering Tuba.

“Did they just open the door?” Steve asked in disbelief as Bucky’s furry little family _(what was it he called them? The Furnadoes?)_ made their way towards the bed.

“Yeah, they do that,” Bucky shrugged as his menagerie all jumped onto the mattress and began a complicated dance of sniffing, circling and kneading at the pillows before they each claimed a spot of their own to settle down in. “You’re just gonna have to get used to it.”

“Okay.” Steve couldn’t help but notice that while Athena spread herself out in a lazy sprawl on Bucky’s pillow, Tuba had to spend a good thirty seconds cleaning her ass before she curled up into a teeny, tiny ball on Steve’s.

“I think she likes you,” Bucky grinned at the expression on Steve’s face. “She won’t even let Hunter share her pillow, and she’s crazy about him.”

“Okay,” Steve said again. But then he reached out with a careful hand to let Tuba sniff his fingers, before she allowed him to scritch her ears. She really was an adorable little thing, and her fur was so soft. He’d never had a cat before, or a dog, but he hadn’t lied when he said he was looking forward to getting to know them better, and he couldn’t help but think this was a very good start.

Bucky seemed to feel the same way. His expression, which had been pensive while he watched Steve, grew pleased and warm, a recipe of happiness and joy on his face, before he pressed a soft kiss to Steve’s lips, and then lowered himself, resting his head on Steve’s shoulder and the palm of his left hand over Steve’s heart.

“Welcome home Stevie,” were the last words he said to Steve that night. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's just the Epilogue after this, which I'll be posting in a couple of days.
> 
> Until then, I know I made everyone wait an extremely long time for this chapter, but in the end I hope it was worth it. 
> 
> (●'◡'●)


	18. Chapter 18

**One year later…**   
  


The air was redolent with the scents of tomatoes and garlic, fresh oregano and basil, and a hint of the sea as Steve closed and locked the door behind him. He kicked off his shoes before he unhooked the leads from Hunter and Hope’s halters, and signed _Good dogs, go, bed, sleep,_ smiling as they scampered away, only to be replaced by Athena, who circled around his calves while Tuba rolled into his feet, then sat so she could lick her ass, before honking at Steve, demanding he pick her up.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, there’s my girl.” Steve scooped her up into his arms, and followed the amazing smells to their source in the kitchen, to find Bucky standing in front of the stove, keeping a careful watch over the contents simmering away in a large pot.

“Hey honey. You beat me home.” Steve stepped behind him and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, before hooking his chin over his shoulder to see what Bucky was cooking. “Are you making cioppino?”

“Yeah, I did, and yes, I am,” Bucky said, twisting slightly to kiss the corner of Steve’s mouth, while lifting his left hand so he could run his fingers through Steve’s hair.

Over the past twelve months, Steve had sampled lots of foods he never had before, but Bucky’s cioppino, based on his father’s recipe, was by far his favorite. It was the first meal Bucky ever cooked for him nine days after they finally came together, and even the Fates had to admit they’d had enough sex _(for now)_ and it was time for them to rejoin the world. Their family and friends were waiting for them to re-emerge from their self-imposed isolation so they could offer their congratulations and each be officially welcomed into the other’s clan, but there was something they both agreed needed to happen first.

So after they showered and put on clothes for the first time in over a week, scarfed down the last remaining bits of food in Bucky’s kitchen, they climbed into Bucky’s SUV and drove to City Hall where they registered themselves as soulmates. There had been a lot of paperwork, but they’d known that going in, and once they handed it in and revealed their matching soulmarks to the clerk and two additional witnesses, their documents were stamped, and Steven Grant Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes were officially listed as each other’s soulmate. It gave them a legal claim to each other, superseding any contracts either of them may have signed previously, making each the other’s beneficiary, and the right to make any medical decisions in regards to their care should one of them not be able to. While soulmates were rare, no one would dare deny their importance, and the laws had changed since Steve’s youth to acknowledge and protect both members of a pairing.

Recognizing Steve almost immediately, the clerk appeared stunned, but quickly shook herself out of it to announce their bond officially registered and offer her congratulations. Documents in hand, they quickly left after that in an effort to avoid any further recognition, climbing back into Bucky’s _(and now Steve’s)_ SUV, Bucky insisting they make two pit stops before they drove back home.

After they’d had some celebratory sex _(because it had been over five hours, and that was way too long in both of their opinions)_ , Bucky dragged Steve into the kitchen, where he ordered him to sit and do nothing more than keep him company, while he sliced and diced, and simmered and stirred, performing some sort culinary magic that had Steve drooling in anticipation.

“What’s this?” Steve asked, sniffing at the deep bowl Bucky presented to him, filled to the brim with mussels, clams, scallops, shrimp and pieces of cod floating in a red broth.

“Cioppino,” Bucky answered, something in his voice both unbelievably fond yet also sad. “My father’s recipe.” _(Oh, so that explained it.)_ “I love my family’s cooking, all of it. But my dad used to make this for me all the time. He was an excellent cook himself, but this was his specialty. And when I got old enough, we started making it together, and it’s still my favorite. It was the first thing I made for you when I realized our Sense was taste, because I wanted to share that with you, but I don’t think you noticed it at the time.”

“I’m so sorry Bucky,” Steve said, feeling tremendously ashamed of his unawareness. “I should have paid better attention.”

“It’s okay,” Bucky waved his apology off, although for Steve it absolutely wasn’t. “What matters is we got there in the end. So try it now, and let me know what you think.”

Even if it hadn’t been a meal prepared specially for him by his soulmate, a recipe passed down from father to son, that was now being served to him in a gesture of love and celebration, it was by far the best meal Steve had ever eaten. Not only could Steve taste the layers of flavors that had been so carefully balanced to complement each other, but also all the care, attention to detail and love Bucky made sure to stir in while he prepared his father’s beloved seafood soup, and Steve would have been more than happy to eat nothing else for the rest of his life. Bucky laughed when Steve told him this, and then proceeded to ladle even more stew into Steve’s nearly empty bowl.

But cioppino wasn’t the only thing Bucky made sure to feed him over the course of the past year. Nor was Steve as hapless in the kitchen as he’d once been.

After receiving a very thorough scolding from the members of Bucky’s family for not knocking on their door as soon as they stepped out of their house for the first time, Steve was swept up into the warm embrace of the Moritas and Joneses. They were waiting with not only opened arms but a seat at their tables, as well as acceptance, smiles and lots and lots of food, making sure Steve knew he was now one of them, who they had been eagerly waiting for and were excited to get to know better.

And the food, _sweet baby Jesus_ , Steve had never been exposed to so much delicious food in all his life. Udon soup, gyoza, kare pans, and pork tonkatsu. Melt in your mouth barbeque ribs, black-eyed peas, etouffees, and shrimp and grits. Each dish was a revelation, one he took delight in, and it made everyone smile when he always reached for seconds, then thirds.

He had even started to develop a fondness of his own for spicy food. While no match for Bucky _(but then again, according to Gabe and Jimmie, no one had a passion for spicy food that could rival Bucky’s),_ Steve now got just excited as Bucky did when they were told there would be Pappi’s jerk chicken or O bachan’s tan tan ramen for dinner that night. While he still did need to chew the occasional antacid, it was more than worth it to see the smile on Bucky’s face when of his own accord Steve ordered _bibimbap_ with _kimchee_ when they’d gone out for Korean food _(a new favorite of Steve’s),_ or the way Sam and even Natasha looked doubtful when Steve ordered _wat_ the night they all decided to try a new Ethiopian restaurant. _(And yeah, that had been hot, certainly more than Steve had been expecting, but once the burn passed, the flavors beneath had been to die for.)_ Bucky hadn’t even blinked, but well, they all knew by now he had a tolerance for heat that would impress even a dragon. Clint and Sam had both lost quite a bit of money to the Howlies trying to find something Bucky wouldn’t eat.

However, it wasn’t just Steve’s palate that had expanded, but his cooking skills as well. True to their word, Vera and Ichika, along with Yua and Leo had set themselves to the task of teaching Steve how to cook.

Vera and Ichika were two of the most amazing women Steve was blessed to know, strong, graceful and determined, the matriarchs of the family, who loved their children fiercely and made sure they always knew that. They reminded him of his own mother, as they worked not to replace Sarah’s place in his heart, but find spaces of their own, filling a need Steve didn’t know he had, but welcomed with open arms. The first time Steve let slip, “Oh my god, that smells so good Mom! What are you making?” after he followed Bucky into Vera’s kitchen five months after they bonded, she merely smiled and said, “Well that took you long enough, Baby Boy. And it’s chicken and okra gumbo. You’re gonna love it,” while Bucky beamed at him. _(He had.)_

And when he called out, “Hold on Okaasan, I’ll get those for you,” before dashing across the street to help Ichika unload grocery bags from the trunk of her car, she pulled Steve into her arms, kissed his forehead, and said, “Finally. I’ve been waiting for that. Now come inside and I’ll teach you how to make Bucky’s favorite gyoza.”

“Not just Bucky’s,” Steve admitted with a smile, following Ichika into the house.

“Of course not,” she laughed back at him while unlocking her door.

Vera and Ichika were also the ones from whom Steve learned the most about Bucky’s parents.

Bucky spoke of them, and always fondly, but not often. Steve never pressed for more, since he now understood both the devastation and guilt Bucky felt for not being there. Bucky had told him how remodeling the home he inherited had been a vital step in his recovery, but there were still hints of them all over the house; pictures scattered throughout the rooms, George’s pots and pans in the kitchen, Winifred’s hairbrush in the top drawer of Bucky’s nightstand, the collection of manga that belonged to Rebecca. But it was through Ichika and Vera that Steve obtained a deeper understanding of the family Bucky cherished and adored, and still missed to this day.

“He’s his mother’s child, through and through,” Ichika told him one afternoon as he sat drinking coffee with both her and Vera in the Morita kitchen. Bucky was traveling that week with a client, and Steve, feeling a bit lost without him, had wandered over to their houses to see if there were any errands he could help them with. They had taken one look at him, ushered him inside, and pulled out a collection of photo albums, sharing with him fond remembrances of all the childhood shenanigans their three boys had gotten up to in the neighborhood.

“His steadiness and loyalty to his friends, that’s all George,” Vera tapped the photo of a very handsome man in a fireman’s uniform with a little girl and a much younger Bucky clinging to his thighs. “But his brightness, his sense of adventure and joie de vivre, that’s Winnie.” She flipped the page and pointed to a picture of a beautiful woman, who bore a striking resemblance to Bucky, wearing an old band t-shirt and a faded pair of jeans, holding the hands of her two children, her head tossed back in laughter.

“He evens laughs like her, with his whole body, although I don’t think he realizes it,” Ichika added. “It always made George smile whenever he heard them laughing like that. Said it was his favorite song in the world.” She paused to take a sip of her coffee. “He was so different when he finally came home for good, and I’d never thought we’d hear it again. But ever since he met you, he’s started to laugh like that again. It’s good to hear, and know that all the best parts of Winnie and George are still alive in him.”

“And that’s all because of you, Baby Boy,” Vera added.

“You do know I’m older than the both of you, right?” Steve murmured to hide his blush.

“Oh please,” Ichika waved his comment off. “We may not have raised you, but you’ve always been Bucky’s, which means you’ve always been ours too.”

“And you still need a bit of mothering, so just accept it. It’ll be easier for everyone all around if you do,” Vera smiled.

“Now tell us all about your mother. Her name was Sarah, wasn’t it? Do you have any pictures of her we can add to our albums?”

Steve only had one, a reprint of a single surviving photo he obtained from the Smithsonian. He kept a framed copy on his nightstand, and then made two more, which he handed over to Vera and Ichika, where they proudly added it next to a photo of the Barnes family.

Steve had never felt so humble or grateful in his entire life. It still took him a little bit of time to remember what it was like to be welcomed into such a large and tightly woven clan. They reminded him a lot of Arnie’s family, especially at mealtimes, when everyone gathered together because they truly loved and enjoyed each other’s company, and there was no place else any of them would rather be.

Of course Leo and Yua helped too, taking it upon themselves to make sure Steve knew his way around a kitchen well enough so that their grandson _‘wouldn’t get so hungry he’d go looking for a nice, Japanese wife,’_ according to Yua.

They were, well…They were the two most cranky and cantankerous old farts Steve ever met, argumentative and always more than willing to call someone out when they thought they were doing something stupid, and had a penchant for mischief the likes of which shocked even Steve. _(He and Bucky had spent many an early evening chasing Hope around the backyard after Yua somehow managed to teach her a command that whenever she signed it caused their deaf dog to find and then run off with his shield. Nor would he ever get over the day he came home from the Tower to find Leo sitting on the living room couch, wearing the boots and cowl from his uniform, watching some strange movie about illegal race car drivers, shouting at the screen. Some things he was just better off not knowing.)_ Still, he had to admit he was pretty crazy about them.

However there were rules they insisted on if they were going to share with Steve all their family’s secret recipes, the two most important being that Steve had to speak only French when in the kitchen with Leo, and Japanese with Yua.

It was easier, at least the language aspect of the lessons, with Leo. Steve had learned to speak French during his time in Europe, and while he hadn’t used it in a while, it quickly came back to him. That didn’t mean the lessons themselves were easy; Leo may have been in his nineties but he knew his way around a kitchen, and was a very demanding instructor. But he also had a wealth of life experiences he generously shared, if in his cranky way, and given that they were technically the same age, Steve found he could relate to him in ways he couldn’t with very many other people.

“I was poor when I was a boy, just like you were. We never had much, but there was always plenty of food on our table. I don’t know how my Momma did it, still don’t know, to be honest. She was a hard woman, never putting up with any bullshit from us kids, and that’s the truth of it. She was black and a single mother in a time when that was even harder than it is now, and she had to work her ass off every damned day just to survive. But there was always a hot meal waiting for us when we came home, and that’s how I knew she loved us. Cooking is a lot of things, boy, but what it really is, what it’s always been, is a language of love. Remember that.

“Now what the hell are you doing to that chicken wing, you dumbass! Get the hell outta my way before you set the entire damned kitchen on fire.”

“Sorry sir,” Steve apologized, looking down at the piece of meat he somehow managed to shred.

“Are you a damned Jehovah’s Witness? No, you’re not. You’re my idiot grandson’s soulmate. I got two of you shit-for-brains white boys hanging around my kitchen now. You can call Pappi just like the rest of his stupid friends. It’ll make it easier for me that way. Y’all look alike anyways.”

“Yes sir – I mean Pappi. Sorry,” Steve apologized, although something in him was humming with a deep contentment.

“Better,” Pappi grunted. “Now here, watch. You gotta treat the chicken like the lady she is. That way she’ll give you all her juices, just like you want.”

Steve was suddenly a lot less content. _(But that night, even Steve had to admit, the jerk-chicken they made together was delicious.)_

Yua, on the other hand, was a tiny thing, surprisingly spritely for her age, but Steve was convinced she was going to outlive them all. The lessons with her were even more difficult, mostly because she would only conduct them in Japanese. From what Steve had been told, she could understand and speak English perfectly, but in her home she absolutely refused to use anything but her native tongue.

“Why shouldn’t she?” Bucky merely shrugged when Steve asked him about it. “She left everything behind when she came to America to build a better life for her family. Why should she have to give that up too, especially in her own home? Now c’mon, try it again. Japanese is a softer language than English. You have to speak the words higher in your throat than you do when you speak English. That’ll help a lot with your pronunciation.”

It did, as did the continuous lessons from not only Bucky, but Jimmie, Gabe and Ichika as well, along with the way the serum had enhanced both Steve’s memory and cognitive skills. And once Yua realized Steve was sincere in his attempts to learn, she became much more patient with him.

“When we’re in the house, you can call me O bachan just like everybody else. Repeat that, O bachan,” she instructed him in Japanese one afternoon, her arm through his as he escorted her to her daily grocery shopping, making sure to carefully enunciate each syllable.

“O bachan,” Steve dutifully repeated.

“Better,” she nodded in approval. “But when we’re outside, you’ll call me Honeybuns.”

“Nani?” Steve stopped mid-step.

“Hai,” she nodded again, “that way when everyone sees us together like this, and they hear you calling me that, they’ll think I’m hot stuff.”

“Um…” Steve wouldn’t have been able to remember Japanese if his life depended on it.

“Oh please, stop pretending to be such a prude. Remember, I was the one who helped Bucky practice giving blowjobs on a cucumber, so I know you know what sex is.”

“Um…”

“Now come on,” she tugged on his arm, “I’m going to show you how to pick just the perfect octopus for takoyaki. No matter what that old fart says, it’s always been Bucky’s favorite dish, and I’m going to teach you how to make it for him.”

That night, after Steve tried _(so hard, he tried so fucking hard)_ and failed to forget that entire conversation, he made his first attempt at preparing Bucky’s beloved fried octopus balls. He was on his third batch, and they still hadn’t come out right. O bachan had made it look so easy, her fingers nimble and quick, but Steve couldn’t figure out what he was doing wrong. He was debating chucking everything in the garbage and ordering pizza instead when Bucky came home from a day working at the UN, the barking of the dogs announcing his arrival.

“Hey,” he smiled at Steve as he made his way into the kitchen, still wearing his suit. Steve really wanted to lick him; he always did whenever Bucky wore a suit, but he had to settle for a warm kiss to his cheek instead, as Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist, resting his chin over Steve’s shoulder to stare down at the splattered mess of batter and minced octopus pieces covering the stovetop. “What’re you doing?”

“I was trying to make you takoyaki for dinner,” Steve mumbled, horribly embarrassed. “But, well…They didn’t come out right.”

“You made me takoyaki?” Bucky asked, his eyes scanning the obvious evidence of Steve’s disastrous attempt. “Really?” He stepped back, loosening his tie and undoing his jacket, which he draped over the back of one of their kitchen chairs, before returning to the counter to pick up the plate of lumpy and burnt balls to carry it back with him to the kitchen table.

“Bucky, you don’t –“ Steve tried to stop him, but Bucky had already placed one of undeniably mishappen blobs into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully for a few seconds, before he swallowed, nodded, and reached for another. “Oh my god, what the hell are you doing? Don’t eat that!”

“But you made them for me,” Bucky said softly, reaching for a third. And there, on the crest of his cheeks, was the beginnings of a blush.

“But they’re – they’re horrible. Even the cats don’t want them.” Steve was shocked, absolutely, one-hundred percent shocked. This was not was what he expected.

“But you made them for me,” Bucky said again, as if that explained everything. “Now can you get me a beer from the fridge please? It’s been a long day, and I’m starving. You have no idea how nice this was to come home to.”

That was the thing about Bucky; for as much as his soulmate was obsessed with food, could spend hours debating the merits of one dish over another, or how everything was even better when it was spicy, what he really loved and was most important to him was the fact someone actually took the time to cook for him. That care and attention was what he really hungered for, and he was always grateful for any meal someone made the effort to prepare for him.

Steve, grateful for Bucky, made it his life’s mission to learn how to become a much better cook. There had been some disastrous mistakes, but also undeniable successes, that increased over time that Bucky always beamed over. They still ate with their family at least three times a week, sometimes more if they were all around or the mood struck. And initially, Bucky did do the majority of the cooking. In spite of what he said, Bucky was an excellent cook, and Steve ended up enjoying anything he made. But as the months passed, Steve took over most of the cooking duties, even adding a few recipes of his own to his repertoire, from both his and Arnie’s mothers’ kitchens. _(Steve’s meatloaf with potatoes and gravy made from scratch was to die for, as was his carrot cake with homemade cream-cheese frosting, and Bucky practically danced on his toes whenever he saw Steve gathering the ingredients together.)_ Since Bucky always made sure to let Steve know how appreciative he was for every meal he cooked with not only his smiles, but his hands, tongue and body, it wasn’t exactly a hardship.

And even Jimmie and Gabe, along with the rest of the Howlies, had to agree Steve’s cooking skills dramatically improved.

Bucky’s brothers were yet another unexpected benefit of their bond. Jimmie and Gabe were two of the most stand up men Steve had ever met, extremely protective of Bucky, but also more than willing to make room in their lives for Steve. Gabe was a calm and steady presence, patient and easygoing, with a warm smile. He was a perfect balance to Jimmie’s more hyper and somewhat pricklier nature, but Jimmie had a way of looking at the world that never failed to make Steve laugh. But whenever the three of them were together, their own bonds of shared history and brotherhood a beacon nearly as bright as the one Steve shared with Bucky, they made sure Steve never felt left out. They could tease each other for hours, or get into arguments over the stupidest of things, _(Steve had no idea why one Spice Girl mattered more than another, and learned very quickly to take the dogs out for a nice long walk whenever that debate started)_ , but they also had an innate sense when one of them was struggling, or needed just an extra bit of support. Thick as thieves, they were, and Steve would have been jealous if they didn’t spend hours trying to out-embarrass the other with stories from their youth.

The rest of the Howlies, well, they were an absolute hoot, some of the rowdiest bunch of yahoos Steve had ever known, but also absolutely devoted to one another, and able to switch to the most disciplined unit of men on a dime when called to action.

After a lot of discussions where Steve presented his reasonings, and Bucky allowed each and every member of his unit to have their say, they did eventually agree to provide ground support for the Avengers. But only on a limited basis and in extreme circumstances, since they truly enjoyed their lives as civilians.

While doubtful at first, _(especially Tony)_ , after the Howlies performed a nearly miraculous and flawless extraction of Steve and his team from a mission that had been a disaster in Uruguay, everyone agreed it was an excellent decision. Steve knew Maria was especially foaming at the mouth to get the Howlies working with them fulltime, but no matter how many times she presented her case, Bucky and his unit always refused, claiming they had always been and always would be better used as a last resort. Both Sam and Natasha were delighted, especially since Sam’s “innocent” comment of, _“You know, before you he had a tendency to forget his parachute before jumping out of airplanes, right?”_ led to Bucky shouting at him for three hours, followed by a two hour lecture from Vera and Ichika, topped by Yua and Leo banning him from their respective kitchens for a month.

Steve always made sure to use a parachute after that. _(And to also never leave Clint and Jackie alone together for more than five minutes. Things had a tendency to explode if they were unsupervised.)_

It still took time for their two teams to get used to each other, but by the time Steve returned to the Tower two weeks after their first encounter with Bucky in tow to collect his belongings and officially move out, Pepper had indeed managed to talk Tony down. And, just like Steve promised, she was absolutely thrilled to meet Bucky.

“Oh wow, look at you,” she smiled at Bucky, both of his hands held warmly in hers. “He’s absolutely gorgeous Steve. And is it true you speak over a dozen languages? Why aren’t you working for me? Never mind that, let me give you a tour of the Tower while Steve and Tony try to pretend they’re actually grownups for the next ten minutes. I can’t believe what Tony said about your grandparents. You had every right to draw a dick on his face for that. I would have done the exact same thing.” She pulled Bucky away, leaving a very bemused Tony and Steve behind to stare after them.

“You’re right,” Bucky begrudgingly admitted three hours later, as they were packing the last of Steve’s belongings into his truck. “She’s a sweetheart. I can see why you like her.”

“Told ya,” Steve said, slamming the back hatch closed. “Now c’mon, let’s go home.”

Pepper wasn’t the only one of Steve’s found family happy to meet Bucky; the others were just as thrilled as well. Well, most of them.

Tony never did forgive Bucky for what he and the Howlies had done to him, although he still constantly complained about the fact that half of Bucky’s team worked for that ‘ _nutjob Pym_.’

Bucky and Sam…Well, that was its own thing. They tended to bicker and snap at each other, the only time they ever truly seemed to get along when they had a chance to call Steve out on something he’d done they both agreed was immensely stupid.

Bucky quickly warmed to Wanda though, viewing her like Steve did, as something of a little sister, and it was not uncommon to find her at one of their family dinners at least once a week now. The first time Bucky invited her to join them, assuring her she would be more than welcome, Vera had taken one look at her, shaken her head and said, “Oh look at you. Aren’t you just the prettiest little thing. But you’re too skinny. What have those boys been feeding you? Now come on in and sit down. I’ve made chicken and dumplings for dinner, we need to fatten you up a bit.”

And that had been that. _(And if anyone noticed how Gabe smiled at her, or Wanda always made sure to sit next to him during dinner, they were smart enough not to say anything about it.)_

Clint adored Bucky. Or more precisely, he adored Bucky’s dogs, and if Steve made the mistake of not bringing Hunter and Hope with him during his daily visits to the Tower, he let everyone know how disappointed he was, mostly by shooting things at their heads from the air vents. They now had nearly daily scheduled playdates with Lucky in Bryant Park, where the three dogs happily chased each other, while Steve, Bucky and Clint watched them while chatting about their day in sign language.

But out of all of Steve’s teammates, it was Natasha who developed the strongest friendship with Bucky, outside of his relationship to Steve.

Steve had been unsure of their developing dynamic at first, wondering what her true motives were, especially since Natasha could be so hard to read, even for him after all this time. Initially, he knew she was studying Bucky, trying to come to her own understanding of him. And Bucky was definitely a bit wary of her. But then Natasha requested Bucky’s, and _only_ Bucky’s, presence on an op, since she needed a sniper and Clint was once again recovering from an injury. Although both Steve and Bucky’s team had grumbled about, after that something between them changed. They were easier and more relaxed around each other, although it was subtle.

Until one day Steve came home to find them the two of them in the kitchen, cooking together of all things, while chatting easily in Russian, Natasha laughing at whatever Bucky had just said. It wasn’t that she was there that made Steve realize something solid and true was growing between them; she had shown up plenty of times unannounced at their door, claiming she needed to speak to Steve. It was the fact she was wearing a pair of sweat pants and a tank top, her hair tied up in a loose bun at the top of her head, both Athena and Tuba cradled in her arms. That was Natasha just being Natasha, and not the Black Widow, as relaxed as she could ever be, showing as much of her natural self as she ever showed anyone. It filled Steve’s heart with something close to bursting, because as much as Steve needed Bucky, he knew Natasha also needed more people in her life she could trust.

Steve decided not to comment on it, kissing Bucky’s lips in hello, and asking instead, “What are the two of you making? It smells great.”

“It’s called _solyanka_ , and I haven’t had it in years,” was Natasha’s response, before she added something to the pot Bucky was carefully stirring. “But Yasha said he had a great recipe and we should give it a try.”

Whatever _solyanka_ was, Steve had to admit it was delicious. And Natasha became a semi-regular presence in their home, Clint _(and Lucky)_ usually right behind her.

It was a life, their life. It wasn’t always easy, and there were still plenty of challenges they needed to face. Just because they finally built their bridge and found each other, didn’t mean all their issues magically vanished.

As predicted, the public and the press soon found out about not only their relationship but the fact they were soulmates as well, and that led to a challenging month of reporters from all over the world camped out on their street in a desperate attempt to catch a photograph of the two of them together. While challenging, it ultimately proved fruitless, since Steve’s soulmate was the leader of a team of men who specialized in undercover missions, and could easily sneak in and out of his own house with none of them the wiser, laughing as he did. There was also the fact that Leo had no absolutely inhibitions about turning the Jones’ garden hose on the press, shouting about, _“Damned Jehovah’s Witnesses on his yard, bringing down the property values!”_ Or that with a simple gesture from Yua, Hunter and Hope would gleefully make a game out of stealing any camera equipment they could get their jaws on. Pepper’s PR team tried to talk to them about their behavior, but everyone else had known it was a lost cause. Steve absolutely refused to speak about Bucky at any of the Avenger’s press conferences, except to say that he was very happy but would not go into any further details. Per the plan Pepper’s team developed, they did do two interviews, _only two_ , one with TIME magazine, and a second on the _Ellen Degeneres Show_ , where her questions were simultaneously teasing yet respectful, while all of their friends and family smiled at them from the audience.

Eventually interest in their relationship died down, although they did get the occasional request for a photo or autograph from someone on the street, and their lives settled into a more normal rhythm.

There was also the fact that they both suffered from PTSD; Steve still had a horrible fear of the cold, that could leave him shivering no matter how warm he was. Bucky’s manifested itself mostly through paranoia, and there were evenings when he couldn’t sleep and needed to prowl their neighborhood to make sure he was safe. And there were nights when one, or sometimes even both of them, were plagued by horrible nightmares. Not as many as there’d once been, but even one was more than enough.

After a particularly brutal one for Bucky, where he woke up screaming, once Steve managed to assure him he was home and safe, Bucky finally confessed to him some of what he had experienced as a prisoner of war. The table he’d been tied to, the way his captors had ignored his screams, the experiments he’d been forced to endure, ending with a whispered, “They did something to me, injected me with something, I don’t know what, and it changed me. I’m different now. I should have died, but I didn’t. And except for this,” he lifted his left arm, the one that was brutally scarred from the top of his bicep all the way down to his wrist, but somehow still fully functional, “no one would ever know what I’d been through.”

Steve had noticed, of course he had. Bucky _was_ different. Faster, stronger, his senses sharper than anyone else’s but Steve’s. His night vision was uncanny, and sometimes when he tilted his head, Steve knew it was because someone was having an argument two blocks away, or there was a helicopter flying over the city, things only Steve should have been able to hear. Bucky was also the only one who could keep up with Steve on a run, causing Sam to curse at the both of them. To Steve, and perhaps Natasha, _(and more than likley the rest of Bucky’s team, but they were smart enough not to say anything about it),_ it was obvious he’d been enhanced in some way. But if it meant Bucky survived, Steve’s mark remaining grey until they met, instead of turning black, while Steve was absolutely horrified by what Bucky had been forced to endure, in an awful, bitter, and selfish way, he was also grateful. How could he not when he had a lover, a partner, a best friend who could make him laugh and understood him like no one ever had? Who was not only his match in every way, but also trusted him enough to be honest with him in ways he wasn’t with anyone else.

“But it’s over now, and you made it home, to me, so I can take care of you,” Steve would always whisper to him, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s forehead. “Now c’mon, let’s get some hot chocolate into you.”

The first time Steve had done that, Bucky looked at the mug Steve placed into his hands, and smiled.

“You remembered,” he murmured, fiddling with the handle.

“Of course I did,” Steve reached out and began a slow and steady massage of Bucky’s scalp; something about having his hair played with always seemed to help him relax. “I was screaming that night, even if I didn’t know it. And you answered. The instant I tasted that through our Sense, that’s when I knew I was already in love with you.”

“I fell in love with you the minute you decided to help me draw a dick on Stark’s face,” Bucky snorted with a small but grateful grin, before he lifted the mug and took a sip of the hot chocolate.

Long nights, hot chocolate and eventual laughter. Sometimes that really was what love was all about.

The Fates had done well by them, choosing each for the other. Over the past year their Sense of taste had faded a bit, less overwhelming than it had once been. In exchange they had a constant awareness of where the other was, and a lowkey thrumming knowledge of what the other was feeling. Steve always knew when Bucky was having a good day with one of his clients, and Bucky was always waiting for him at home with open arms when Steve had a rough one at the Tower.

Their Grey Spaces had also evolved into their final manifestation; a vivid bright red star on Steve’s upper right arm, and a gleaming white one on Bucky’s left, a living mark that was proof of their bond as soulmates.

Bucky, being Bucky, had taken it one step further. Steve, filled with a never before possessed contentment, had begun to sketch again. One of the first things he ended up drawing was his mother’s soulmark, using his own as a template to fill it with all the colors he imagined it must have once possessed. Seeing it, and deciding to pay tribute to the mother he would never know, Bucky brought the depiction to the tattoo parlor where he and all of the Howlies had gone to mark their commitment to each other on their skins prior to their very first mission. Bucky’s tattoo was a fierce and glorious white wolf, with striking yellow eyes, surrounding by its packmates on the back of his right shoulder, that Steve was endlessly fascinated by and loved to trace with his tongue.

The original artist wasn’t there; instead they were greeted by an elderly man, tall and thin, with a shockingly full head of white hair, who must have been ninety if he was a day. He took one look at the both of them, the sketch in Bucky’s hand, and insisted he was the right artist for the job.

“I’m so glad,” he said as he prepped and cleaned Bucky’s upper left shoulder. “Some things were always meant to be. You can’t change the past, or try to deny who you really are. If you do, you only end up paying for it in the end. And the Fates will always find a way to make it right. I should have learned that a long time ago, but I’m so happy you didn’t make the same mistake I did.”

Definitely a strange man, familiar in a way that made Steve extremely uncomfortable, even if he didn’t understand why. But his hands were steady and deft, and the final tattoo, the wreath of Sarah’s soulmark surrounding Bucky’s white star, was definitely more than worth the money they paid for it.

It was such a striking piece that Gabe and Jimmie went back to get additional tattoos of their own, only to discover no one knew who they were talking about, and that their oldest artist was a woman in her fifties, the owner of the shop, who saw to them instead.

Strange, they all had to admit in the end, but no one could deny Bucky’s tattoo had been done by a master.

But then again, what did it matter? Their lives were beautiful and strange, filled with family and friends, a comfortable house, a three-legged dog, a deaf one, a cat that was really a panther in disguise, and a tiny little furball that sounded like a tuba whenever she opened her mouth.

Late night conversations, laugher, and sex _(lots and lots and lots of really great sex)._

And food, the ultimate language of love.

Sweet, rich and satisfying, and spicier than anything Steve could have ever imagined possible.

“Now come on, go sit down at the table,” Bucky said to him in the now, reaching behind him to run his fingers through Steve’s hair. “I’ve been waiting for you to come home. It’s time to eat.”

What else could Steve do but agree? His soulmate wanted to feed him, not just with herbs and spices, thinly sliced fish and a perfectly balanced broth, but with love, just as carefully prepared and even more generously given.

Such feasts were rare, but with Bucky by his side, in his heart, they were easy to share. And there was no one else in the world Steve would rather share it with than Bucky for the rest of their lives.

Food, like love, like they were, was eternal, and no one, not even the Fates, and certainly not Steve, was stupid enough to not embrace it until the end of time.

**FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have reached the conclusion of Steve and Bucky’s adventures with food, family and pets as they finally make their way toward the happy ending they deserved. To anyone who has made it all the way to the end of this story, I want to say thank you for sticking with me for so long, and I hope it brought a smile to your face. 
> 
> This story was a bit of a strange one for me. I finished writing it back at the beginning of February, and didn’t start posting until the beginning of March, right when the world really began to feel the effects of the pandemic we’re now all living through. It was originally meant to be nothing more than a bit of silly cracky fun, that played with the soulmate trope a bit, but for me at least, it ended up being so much more.
> 
> So many of you reached out to me while I was posting chapters, either through the comments, on Tumblr or via email. You have made me laugh, cry, shared pictures of your dogs and cats, and very kindly and generously offered me so much support when it was desperately needed, and I’ll NEVER be able to thank you all enough for that. I couldn’t possibly name you all, there are too many of you to mention, and I don’t want to leave a single person out. But I do hope you know how much all of it has meant to me. 
> 
> That said, there are two people I want to thank. The first being mags-duranb. I first reached out to her because I wanted some cover art for this story, and I think we can all agree she absolutely delivered. But each and every piece after that was simply because she was just that generous. She is an amazing and wonderfully kind person, and all her artwork is absolutely delightful, and if you want to see more of it please check out her [Tumblr](https://mags-duranb.tumblr.com/) or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/mags_duranb) accounts. 
> 
> The second person is Merry_rf. Merry didn’t beta this story this time around, but they still offered endless encouragement, kindness and support. Merry is a dear, dear friend, who I made through fandom, and all I can say is that I hope everyone is lucky enough to have a Merry of their own in their life. 
> 
> Finally, I once again want to thank every single one of you who has made it this far. We’re living in some crazy times right now, and the fact that even during all this, you still decided to take a chance on this story both humbles and amazes me. Thank you so much for all of your support. It is my deepest, truest wish that all of you get to share your favorite meal with someone you love soon. 
> 
> **hugshugshugs** and be well.
> 
> P.S. In case anyone was wondering; A few days after Steve and Bucky finally emerge from the house after their SMSW, Bucky calls Colonel Philips to tell him that he and the rest of the Howlies are back on active duty on a part-time basis, and to let him know that he’s finally found his soulmate, and it’s Captain America, to which Philips offers his congratulations. Then Philips hangs up, disconnects all of his numbers, packs up his family and moves to Antarctica. He remembers all the stories his grandfather told him about Rogers, and he is NOT going to go through that. He’s keeping his hair, thank you very much, and getting the hell outta Dodge. XD
> 
> P.S.S. Just because there seems to be some confusion... the mysterious tattoo artist is not Stan Lee, although that is a GREAT idea, and one I never thought of. The clue is when he says, "You can't change the past..." 🙂 I hope that helps to clarify things a bit, although it can still be Stan Lee if that's who you prefer. 😊😊😊


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